THE  CUES 
OF  HONO1 


.LIAM  HODGE 


The 
Guest  of  Honor 


WILLIAM  HODGE 


1911 

Chappie  Publishing  Company,  Ltd. 
BOSTON 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


All  Rights  Reserved 


COPYRIGHT 

Chappie  Publishing  Company,  Ltd 
1911 


DEDICATED 


To  My  Wife 

and  My  Mother 


2136035 


THE  GUEST  OF  HONOR 

CHAPTER  I 

A    FADED  carpet,  worn  through  in  many 
places,  covered  the  floor  of  a  little  room 
at    the    top    of   a    tenement    house    on 
Twenty-ninth  Street,  near  Third  Avenue,  in 
New  York  City.     The  walls  were  decorated 
with   cheap   faded  paper — unframed   sketches 
and  drawings  such  as  one  artist  would  give  to 
another. 

The  old  book-case  with  its  double  glass 
doors,  covered  with  faded  clean  curtains, 
showed  by  its  cracks  and  scratches  that  it  had 
been  moved  about  carelessly  for  many  years. 
The  color  of  the  chintz  used  to  make  a  cozy 
corner  harmonized  with  the  curtains  that  hung 
at  the  tiny  window.  The  plastered  ceiling 
which  slanted  on  each  side  and  both  ends — the 
banister  in  the  center  of  the  room  that  sur- 
rounded the  rickety  stairs — the  broken  bed- 
couch  and  a  few  wooden  chairs  seemed  to 

i 


2  THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

possess  an  air  of  dignity  that  gave  a  pleasant 
quaintness  to  the  scene.  A  tot  between  four 
and  five  years  of  age  sat  on  the  floor  playing 
with  his  blocks  in  a  ray  of  sunlight.  The 
clumsy  patches  on  his  blue  and  white  gingham 
dress,  and  the  little  knees  sticking  out  through 
the  black  cotton  stockings  suggested  a  boy 
who  might  see  better  days.  He  jerked  his 
curly  head  into  the  air  and  listened  when  he 
heard  the  sound  of  feet  on  the  creaking  stairs, 
and  greeted  Mrs.  Murray  with  a  polite  good 
morning  as  she  appeared  with  one  hand  on  her 
stomach  gasping  for  breath  while  she  leaned 
against  the  banister.  "Hello — Jackie — phat- 
air-ye-doin'?"  she  grunted  between  the  heavy 
puffs. 

"I'm  building  a  hospital,"  and  he  leaned 
back  while  he  surveyed  the  toy  building  care- 
fully. A  feeble  smile  crept  over  her  thin  face. 
She  puffed  her  way  to  the  old  bed-couch  and 
dropped  on  it  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  gave  her 
black  straw  bonnet  a  push  with  both  hands  and 
after  a  few  long  breaths  grunted,  "An'  phat  air 
ye  buildin'  a  hoshpital  fer?" 

"My  jumping-jack  has  broken  his  leg." 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR  3 

"Moy,  but  that's  dridful!  Where's  ye  ye're 
father?" 

"He  has  gone  to  get  some  groceries." 

"Ain't  ye  had  anny  breakfast  yit?" 

"Yes,  I've  had  my  breakfast  and  two  eggs," 
he  shouted  as  he  reached  for  another  block. 

"Ain't  ye're  father  workin'  yit?" 

"Yes,  he's  writing  all  the  time." 

"Well,  if  he  don't  do  somethin'  besoides 
wroite,  ye'll  not  ate  eggs  long  at  the  proice  ye 
have  to  pay  fer'm  now." 

The  stairs  creaked  as  Jack  was  reaching  for 
another  block — he  drew  his  hand  back  and 
listened — they  creaked  again — his  big  blue 
eyes  opened  wider,  and  wider,  and  wider  at 
each  sound.  Mrs.  Murray  stared  over  the 
banister  and  gave  her  black  skirt  a  pull  at  the 
knees  that  brought  the  bottom  down  closer  to 
the  tops  of  her  congress  shoes.  She  folded  one 
hand  and  held  it  in  the  other — placed  them 
both  in  her  lap  and  sat  erect  on  the  edge  of  the 
couch. 

A  heavy,  pleasing  voice  called,  "John." 

The  tapping  of  a  cane  was  heard  on  the 
stairs,  a  wrinkled  hand  clutched  the  banister. 


4  THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

The  end  of  a  cane  appeared  and  tapped  first 
one  spot  then  another. 

Jack  knew  the  sound — he  did  not  turn,  but 
reached  for  another  block  and  yelled,  "Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Warner." 

Warner  rested  the  weight  of  his  heavy 
body  on  his  cane  a  few  seconds,  then  used  it  to 
feel  his  way  to  a  chair  and  said  "Good-morn- 
ing, Jack."  He  removed  his  black  slouch  hat, 
hung  it  on  the  handle  of  his  cane,  ran  his 
fingers  through  his  snow-white  hair  and 
heaved  a  sigh  that  almost  shook  the  little  room. 

Mrs.  Murray's  eyes  wandered  from  his  clean 
shaven  face  to  the  black  shiny  vest  that  but- 
toned tightly  around  his  fleshy  figure,  then  to 
the  ragged  edges  of  his  trousers  that  hung  over 
a  shabby  pair  of  laced  shoes  and  a  look  of  sym- 
pathy came  over  her  face  as  she  looked  at  the 
old  man  run  his  fingers  between  his  neck  and 
the  celluloid  collar  that  was  buttoned  with  a 
bone  button  to  a  figured  soft  shirt.  "Where  is 
your  father?" 

Jack  informed  him  with  a  great  deal  of  pleas- 
ure that  his  father  had  gone  to  the  grocery 
store  and  that  Mrs.  Murray  was  present. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR  5 

Warner  greeted  her  with  a  "good-morning." 

"Good-morning,"  replied  Mrs.  Murray,  and 
her  voice  seemed  a  trifle  softer  and  she  relaxed 
into  an  attitude  of  unconscious  sympathy  as 
she  listened  to  the  pleasing  tone  of  the  man 
who  was  good-natured  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  to  feel  his  way  about  and  look  at 
the  world  through  an  old  wooden  cane. 

"You  haven't  been  around  these  last  few 
weeks,  Mrs.  Murray." 

She  resumed  her  erect  attitude  on  the  edge 
of  the  couch  and  replied  in  a  sharp,  quick  tone, 
"Oi've  bin  busy." 

Jack  sat  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his 
face  resting  on  his  hands,  studying  the  diffi- 
cult problem  of  building  a  roof  on  his  toy  hos- 
pital with  blocks. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  make  my  bed  any 
more?" 

"Not  till  Oi  see  e  father,"  was  the  quick 
reply. 

"And  aren't  you  going  to  wash  my  clothes 
either?" 

"Oi  can't  work  fer  nothin'." 

Jack  started  for  the  stairs.     He  forgot  his 


6  THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

hospital  and  his  jumping-jack.  He  paused  as 
he  reached  the  banister,  raised  his  little  head 
with  the  dignity  of  a  king  and  a  politeness 
that  made  Warner  swell  with  pride: 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  go  down  stairs 
and  see  if  father  is  coming." 

The  old  stairway  didn't  creak  as  his  little 
feet  hurried  down  over  its  steps,  but  each  step 
seemed  to  greet  the  little  toes  with  a  welcome 
and  wished  he  would  stand  still  and  not  glide 
over  it  so  lightly. 

An  air  of  loneliness  came  over  the  little  room 
and  the  narrow  stream  of  sunlight  on  the  old 
rag  carpet  seemed  to  flitter  and  fade.  A  swal- 
low lit  on  the  sill  of  the  tiny  window  and  chir- 
ruped as  if  calling  for  an  old  acquaintance.  It 
hopped  to  the  center  of  the  window,  looked  in 
and  seemed  to  chirrup  a  good-bye,  as  it  flew 
away  and  left  the  two  characters  sitting  there 
in  silence. 

"Mrs.  Murray,  have  you  gone  back  on 
John?"  inquired  Warner  in  a  friendly  voice. 

She  gave  her  funny  little  shawl  a  pull  which 
brought  it  tightly  around  her  sallow  neck  and 
bent  forward  to  make  sure  her  sharp  tone 
would  hit  Warner's  ear. 


' Informed  him  that  Mr.  Weatherbee  had  not  paid  her  a  cent 
in  over  a  month" 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR  7 

"Oi've  washed  and  cleaned  and  made  bids  fer 
John  Weatherbee  as  long  as  Oi'm  goin'  to  till 
he  poys  me." 

"How  long  have  you  been  doing  work  for 
John?" 

"Three  years." 

"And  does  he  owe  you  much?" 

Mrs.  Murray  hastened  herself  to  the  edge  of 
the  couch  and  informed  him  that  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee had  not  paid  her  a  cent  in  over  a  month. 

"He  hasn't  had  it  to  pay  you." 

She  pulled  herself  out  a  little  nearer  the  edge 
of  the  couch.  "Oi'm  not  to  bloim  fer  thot." 

"Nor  is  he." 

"Yis,  he  is  to  bloime.  Sure  whin  he  first 
come  here  to  live  he  had  to  rint  the  pairler  on 
the  very  first  fluer,  an'  he  spint  his  money  loike 
a  fool." 

"He  spent  it  like  a  thoroughbred,  and  loaned 
it  like  a  white  man." 

"Why  don't  he  go  to  work?" 

"He  does  work  constantly." 

"Yis,  he  wurks,  foolin'  his  toime  away 
wroitin'  a  lot  of  trash  that  no  one  would  waste 
their  toime  r'adin'." 


8  THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"John  Weatherbee  is  an  author  and  a  clever 
one;  his  novels  will  be  published  some  day  and 
he  will  be  a  rich  man.  All  great  authors  have 
been  led  to  fame  by  the  hand  of  poverty." 

"Why,  he  owes  iverybody  that's  iver  had 
annythin'  to  do  wid  'm." 

"But  he'll  pay  them  all,  every  cent  he  owes 
them.  I  am  an  old  newspaper  man  myself,  and 
I've  been  associated  with  authors  all  my  life. 
I've  watched  them  and  I've  studied  them.  I've 
seen  them  climb  and  fall,  only  to  rise  and 
climb  higher.  John's  down  now,  but  he  is  tak- 
ing the  count  with  a  smile,  but  watch  him— 
just  keep  your  eye  on  John  Weatherbee." 

Mrs.  Murray  remarked,  with  much  sat- 
isfaction as  she  threw  one  knee  over  the  other, 
that  until  she  received  what  John  Weatherbee 
owed  her,  she  would  keep  both  of  her  eyes  on 
him. 

The  slow  tread  of  footsteps  on  the  uncarpet- 
ed  stairs  caused  her  to  look  anxiously  in  that 
direction.  The  pounding  of  heavily  soled 
shoes  grew  more  distinct  as  they  reached  the 
top  step.  A  small  boy  appeared.  He  held  a 
package  under  an  arm  which  had  grown  many 


inches  too  long  for  the  sleeve  of  a  brown 
checkered  coat.  The  peak  of  his  hat  which 
covered  his  large  head  was  pulled  well  down 
over  his  right  eye.  He  placed  his  elbow  on  the 
banister,  stood  on  one  foot,  threw  the  other 
carelessly  across  it,  permitting  the  latter  to 
rest  where  it  landed,  gave  a  large  piece  of 
gum  a  few  vicious  gnaws  that  seemed  to  tax 
every  muscle  in  the  face  that  was  almost  hid- 
den with  the  marks  of  soiled  fingers  and  in  a 
voice  which  resembled  that  of  a  young  rooster, 
yelled:  "Is  Weatherbee  in?" 

Mrs.  Murray  smiled  as  she  inquired  of  the 
boy  what  he  wanted  of  Weatherbee. 

"I've  got  his  laundry — one  shirt  and  two  col- 
lars. Fourteen  cents,"  and  he  emphasized  the 
fourteen  cents  with  all  the  power  his  voice 
possessed. 

"Mr.  Weatherbee  is  not  in,"  replied  Mr. 
Warner  in  a  polite  tone. 

"Well,  does  any  of  youse  want  ter  pay  fer 
it?"  retorted  the  boy. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Mrs.  Murray 
watched  Warner  nervously  tap  the  floor  with 
the  thin,  worn  sole  of  his  shoe.  She  tossed  her 
chin  in  the  air  and  remarked,  "Not  me!" 


10          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

The  boy  centered  his  gaze  on  Warner  and 
shouted:  "Do  you?" 

Mrs.  Murray  watched  him  as  he  gripped  his 
cane  tightly  with  both  hands. 

"I  haven't  the  change." 

Mrs.  Murray  grinned  and  moved  back  nearer 
the  center  of  the  couch.  A  smile  of  disgust 
came  over  the  boy's  dirty  face  as  he  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  and  remarked  in  a  voice 
which  didn't  betray  his  disgusted  smile:  "Gee, 
there  ain't  fourteen  cents  in  the  bunch."  He 
shook  his  head,  turned  toward  the  stairs  and 
started  down  one  step  at  a  time,  whistling  in  a 
high,  shrill  tone:  "Gee,  I  wish  that  I  had  a  girl 
like  the  other  fellers  have." 


CHAPTER  II 

AS  the  whistling  youngster  left  the  last  step, 
and  the  air  of  "Gee,  I  Wish  That  I  Had  a  Girl 
Like  the  Other  Fellers  Have,"  died  away,  the 
old  stairway  seemed  to  give  a  creak  as  if  for 
good  luck  and  good  riddance. 

Mrs.  Murray  strolled  to  the  little  window, 
but  there  was  nothing  to  see  but  the  rear  of 
the  houses  on  Twenty-eighth  Street  and  the 
fire  escapes  which  were  hung  with  drying  gar- 
ments, so  she  decided  she  would  rather  look  in 
than  out.  She  seated  herself  and  gazed  stead- 
ily at  Warner,  who  was  still  sitting  in  the  same 
chair  he  had  chosen  when  he  entered  the 
room. 

She  removed  a  large  white  handkerchief 
from  her  skirt  pocket,  picked  out  her  choice 
corner  and  used  it  in  a  manner  that  caused 
Warner  to  raise  his  head  quickly.  She  moist- 
ened her  forefingers  with  her  tongue  and  gave 
her  hair  several  pats  on  either  side,  drawing  it 
down  on  her  temples  and  back  over  her  ears. 

11 


12          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

She  cleared  her  throat  and  looked  at  Warner 
out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye : 

"Ye're  such  a  fri'nd  of  Weatherbee's,  whoi 
didn't  ye  pay  the  fourteen  cints?" 

"I  said  I  hadn't  the  change,"  was  the  gentle 
reply. 

She  pushed  her  feet  as  far  forward  as  her 
limbs  would  permit,  carefully  laid  one  hand  on 
the  other,  and  grunted:  "Fourteen  cints  is  a 
lot  of  money  if  ye  ain't  got  it.  I  guess  the 
laundry  boy  knows  Weatherbee." 

"If  the  laundry  boy  knew  him,  Mrs.  Murray, 
he  would  have  left  the  laundry." 

"And  if  Weatherbee  knew  annything  and 
had  anny  sinse,  he'd  put  that  kid  in  an  orphant 
asylum." 

"He  adopted  the  child  to  prevent  it  from  be- 
ing sent  to  an  orphan  asylum,  and  when  its 
mother  died,  he  took  money  that  he  needed 
himself  to  bury  her." 

He  paused  and  then  marked  each  word  with 
a  firm  tap  on  the  floor  with  his  cane:  "And  he'll 
be  rewarded  for  it." 

Mrs.  Murray  jerked  her  feet  in  so  quickly 
that  her  ankles  hit  the  rung  of  the  chair  and 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          13 

yelled :  "A  foine  home  he's  given  the  choild. 
Sure  it's  nothin'  but  a  bundle  of  patches,  and 
half  the  toime  it  don't  have  half  enough  to  ate." 

The  quick  nodding  of  her  head  made  her 
bonnet  slide  down  until  it  rested  on  the  back  of 
her  neck.  She  untied  the  ribbons,  took  the 
bonnet  with  both  hands  and  brought  it  down 
on  the  top  of  her  head  with  a  vengeance,  and 
tied  the  ribbons  so  tightly  that  it  drew  the 
bonnet  well  down  over  her  right  eye.  She  had 
more  to  say  and  was  prepared  to  say  it,  but  the 
stairs  spoke  and  she  listened. 

A  puffing  sound  was  heard.  The  top  of  a  fat, 
bald  head  appeared,  decorated  with  closely 
clipped  mouse-colored  hair.  A  red,  fat  face, 
with  a  pug-nose  of  the  same  color,  was  buried 
between  a  pair  of  heavy,  sandy  side-whiskers 
that  came  down  to  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
The  fat  hand  clung  to  the  banister  and  stead- 
ied the  small,  round,  puffing  figure. 

A  twinkle  of  delight  came  into  the  small 
gray  eye. 

"Good  mornin',  Mrs.  Murray,  his  Mr. 
Weatherbee  hin?" 

"No,  Oi'm  waitin'  fer'm.     How  much  does 


14          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

he  owe  you,  Mr.  Wartle?"  And  she  glanced 
at  Warner  to  see  what  effect  his  reply  would 
have  on  him. 

'  'E  howes  me  nearly  three  months  han  ha 
'alf  rent  for  this  room,  hand  hif  'e  don't  pay  me 
Saturday,  Vs  got  to  get  hout,"  and  the  swift 
nod  of  the  fat  head  caused  the  side-whiskers  to 
think  the  wind  was  blowing. 

Mrs.  Murray  smiled  with  satisfaction. 
"Does  'e  howe  you  hanything,  Mr.  Warner?" 

"No,"  and  his  heavy  voice  filled  the  little 
room. 

Wartle  stepped  from  the  end  of  the  banister 
as  Warner  tapped  his  way  there  on  the  floor 
with  his  cane.  "On  the  contrary,  I  owe  him. 
I  wish  he  did  owe  me.  I  would  consider  it  an 
honor  to  have  John  Weatherbee  in  my  debt." 

The  stairs  creaked  loudly  as  his  heavy 
weight  hit  each  step  and  the  tapping  of  his  cane 
was  heard  guiding  him  along  the  hall  of  the 
floor  below. 

Wartle  was  amazed.  He  hung  his  head  over 
the  banister  and  watched  him  until  he  was  out 
of  sight.  He  turned  to  Mrs.  Murray  and  ex- 
claimed with  much  surprise:  "Hi  wonder  what 
'e  howes  Weatherbee  for." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          15 

"Fer  grub.  Sure  Weatherbee  has  fed  him 
and  kept  him  out  of  the  poorhouse  fer  the  last 
three  years." 

Wartle  gathered  his  mouth  into  an  "O" 
shape  and  whispered:  "Ho!  Ho!  Hi  didn't 
know  that."  Then  a  smile  broke  over  his 
countenance,  he  tiptoed  forward  and  whis- 
pered: "Hi  knew  Weatherbee  wasn't  hat  'ome. 
Hi  came  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Murray." 

She  threw  her  head  back  and  glanced  at  him 
from  the  corner  of  her  eye.  "Don't  flatter  now. 
Ye  didn't  cloimb  up  four  flights  of  stairs  to  see 
me." 

"Ho,  Hi  did.  Hi'd  climb  ha  telegraph  pole 
to  see  you,  Mrs.  Murray." 

A  broad  smile  crept  over  her  face  when  she 
thought  of  the  little  fat  figure  climbing  a  tele- 
graph pole. 

"Sure  ye  couldn't  get  yer  hands  near  a  tile- 
graph  pole,  ye're  stomich  sticks  out  too  far." 

"Hi  could  hif  you  was  hat  the  top." 

The  smile  left  her  face  as  she  continued  in  a 
reproachful  tone:  "Faith  and  ye'll  wait  a  long 
toime  before  ye'll  see  me  at  the  top  of  a  tile- 
graph  pole." 


16          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Wartle  crept  a  step  nearer  and  he  poked  his 
little  fat  face  forward. 

"Hand  before  the  world  comes  to  han  hend, 
Hi  'ope  to  see  you  'igher  hup  than  that,  Mrs. 
Murray." 

"Away  with  yer  flattery,"  she  replied  writh  a 
wave  of  her  hand,  but  the  satisfied  twinkle  in 
her  eye  betrayed  the  words  and  showed  she 
was  enjoying  his  efforts. 

"Hi  mean  hit,"  he  pleaded,  as  his  fat  feet  led 
him  a  little  nearer. 

"Sure  ye  don't  mean  annythin'  ye  say,"  and 
she  pretended  to  gaze  at  the  ceiling. 

"Hi  mean  hevery  thing  Hi  say  to  you,  Mrs. 
Murray,  hand  Hi  wish — Hi  wish" — his  voice 
seemed  to  leave  him  for  a  second,  as  he  nerv- 
ously reached  for  one  of  his  side-whiskers  and 
twirled  it  around  his  finger. 

"Hi  wish  you'd  consent  to  be  my  wife,  hand 
live  'ere  with  me,  hand  take  care  hof  my  'ouse." 

She  took  him  in  from  the  top  of  his  bald 
head  to  the  toes  of  the  carpet  slippers. 

"Faith  and  if  Oi  had  charge  of  yer  'ouse  (as 
ye  call  it),  Oi'd  clane  some  of  these  dead  bates 
out  that  ye  have  livin'  here." 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR          17 

The  remark  gave  Wartle  new  courage.  He 
advanced  another  step. 

"Hand  that's  just  what  Hi'm  goin'  to  do, 
hand  Hi'm  goin'  to  do  hit  hat  once,  too,  hif 
Weatherbee  don't  pay  me  Saturday,  hout  'e 
goes." 

"Well,  if  ye  take  moi  advoice  that's  what 
ye'll  do." 

"Hi'll  take  your  hadvice,  hand  Hi'd  like  to 
'ave  you  take  me  hand  my  'appiness." 

He  stood  with  his  fat  hands  stretched  out 
with  just  the  fingers  showing  from  under  the 
long  flannel  shirt  sleeves. 

The  picture  amused  Mrs.  Murray,  though 
she  concealed  her  smile  and  grunted  somewhat 
sarcastically  and  dropping  some  of  her  h's  in 
order  to  imitate  him,  "Sure  and  what  'appiness 
have  you?  Yer  so  stingy  ye  won't  hire  a  cook 
er  a  chambermaid,  but  try  to  do  all  the  work 
yersilf." 

He  pushed  the  carpet  slippers  a  few  inches 
nearer,  with  his  hands  still  reaching  out  as  far 
as  he  could  get  them. 

"Hif  you'd  'ave  me,  Mrs.  Murray,  Hi'll  'ire  a 
cook  hand  ha  chambermaid,  too." 


18          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Ye  can  bet  ye  would.  Sure,  ye  have  money 
to  burn  an'  Oi'd  make  ye  set  fire  to  it.  Oi  had 
one  husband  that  was  so  stingy  he  wouldn't 
give  annyone  his  full  name." 

She  watched  the  little  round  figure  stealing 
closer  to  her.  His  face  and  head  were  like  a 
ball  of  fire. 

"Hif  you'll  'ave  me,  Mrs.  Murray,  Hi'll  give 
you  hanything  you  want." 

She  moved  away  a  few  inches,  and  in  an 
affected  tone,  which  showed  she  was  having  a 
good  time  at  Wartle's  expense,  remarked: 
"Oh,  this  is  so  sudden  !" 

The  little  gray  eyes  opened  wide.  "Sudden, 
why,  Mrs.  Murray,  Hi've  been  hasking  you  to 
marry  me  for  hover  ha  year." 

"Oi  know  ye  have,"  and  she  placed  the  ends 
of  her  long,  thin  fingers  over  her  mouth,  "but 
ye  look  so  desperate  on  yer  knees." 

"Hi'm  gettin'  desperate." 

"Ye're  gittin'  foolish." 

"Hi  can't  'elp  hit,  Mrs.  Murray,"  and  he 
seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Stop  aitin'  me  fingers,"  she  yelled.  "Are  ye 
losin'  yer  head  entirely?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Murray." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          19 

"Ye  can't  fool  me.  Ye  make  love  to  every 
woman  that  looks  strong  enough  to  do  house- 
work. Ye  want  a  housekeeper,  ye  don't  want  a 
woife." 

He  crawled  along  and  rested  his  elbow  on 
the  couch. 

"No,  Hi  want  ha  wife,  hand  hafter  we're 
married,  Hi'll  give  you  hanything  you  want." 

"Ye'll  give  me  whativer  ye're  going  to  give 
me  before  Oi'm  married.  Oi'll  take  no 
chances." 

He  took  her  hand,  looked  up  into  her  eyes 
and  gasped,  "Then  you'll  'ave  me?" 

"Oi  didn't  say  Oi  would,  did  Oi?" 

"You  said  has  much,"  and  he  stepped  on  her 
foot  with  his  knee. 

"Git  off  me  feet,"  she  screamed.  "Sure  Oi 
ain't  said  half  as  much  as  Oi'm  goin'  to  say." 

Wartle's  knees  were  beginning  to  ache  and 
after  considerable  grunting  and  puffing,  he 
struggled  to  his  feet  and  seated  himself  on  the 
edge  of  the  couch. 

"Go  hon,  Mrs.  Murray,  Hi  love  to  'ear  you 
talk.  Hi  love  the  little  Hirish  touch  hin  your 
voice." 


20          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Sure  I'll  give  ye  an  Irish  touch  that'll  do  yer 
heart  good,"  she  chuckled  as  she  glanced  down 
at  the  little  fat  head  that  was  reaching  up 
toward  hers. 

"Hanything  you'd  do  hor  say  would  do  my 
'art  good,  Mrs.  Murray,  hand  hif  you'll  con- 
sent to  be  Mrs.  Wartle— 

As  he  said  Mrs.  Wartle,  she  threw  up  both 
hands  and  exclaimed:  "Wartle!  Hivins,  what 
a  name.  I'd  feel  as  if  a  toad  had  bit  me." 

"What's  hin  ha  name,  Mrs.  Murray?"  and  he 
crawled  along  until  his  chin  touched  her 
shoulder. 

"There's  nuthin'  but  money  in  your  name," 
and  she  gave  his  chin  a  push  with  her  shoulder 
that  sent  his  head  away  several  inches,  but  it 
traveled  back  a  short  distance  with  each  word. 

"Hand  hif  you'll  be  Mrs.  Wartle,  Hi'll  put 
hit  hall  hin  your  name." 

There  was  a  short  pause.  Her  left  eye 
closed  as  she  looked  down  at  him  and  spoke 
seriously:  "Ye  will?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  quick  reply,  and  his  chin 
touched  her  shoulder  again. 

But  she  didn't  brush  it  awav  this  time.    She 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          21 

brushed  a  little  imaginary  dust  from  the  sleeve 
of  her  waist,  looked  away  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion and  spoke  in  a  careless  manner. 

"Under  thim  conditions,  I  might  be  in- 
duced." 

"Then  you'll  'ave  me?" 

"Ye  say,  if  Oi'll  have  ye,  ye'll  put  iverything 
into  moi  name?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Murray." 

"And  Oi'm  to  have  charge  of  the  house  here 
and  have  a  cook  and  a  chambermaid?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  and  he  moved  up  to  her  side 
and  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his. 

She  looked  steadily  at  the  little,  fat,  be- 
whiskered  face,  and  after  a  few  seconds 
spoke  firmly  and  deliberately:  "And  the  first 
thing  ye  do  is  to  have  thim  lilacs  cut  off  yer 
cheeks." 

A  bewildered  look  came  over  Wartle's  face, 
he  felt  with  each  hand  each  side-whisker  that 
had  been  hanging  there  for  nearly  thirty  years. 
He  gazed  longingly  at  Mrs.  Murray,  but  her 
thin  face  was  serious.  He  gave  each  whisker 
another  pat  and  exclaimed:  "Hi'll  cut  them 
hoff  myself!" 

"Han'  when  will  we  be  married?" 


22          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Not  till  ye  have  everything  made  out  in  moi 
name,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"Hi'll  'ave  the  papers  made  out  in  the  morn- 
ing. Can  Hi  see  you  tonight?"  he  asked  as  he 
crawled  up  close  to  her  side  and  put  his  short 
fat  arm  around  her  thin  waist  and  gazed  up  in- 
to her  face. 

"Ye  can  take  me  to  some  show." 

"Hi'll  call  for  you  hat  'alf  past  seven." 

The  fat  face  was  on  its  way  to  her  cheek,  but 
she  pulled  aside. 

"Cut  thim  lilacs  off  yer  face  afore  ye  come 
near  moi  house." 

"Hi  will,"  and  his  hands  wandered  uncon- 
sciously to  the  whiskers. 

"What  hopera  would  you  like  to  see?" 

She  thought  a  second,  while  she  fumbled  a 
few  sheets  of  manuscript  lying  on  Weather- 
bee's  table.  "Oi'd  like  to  go  over  to  the  Third 
Avenue  Theatre  and  see  'Why  Women  Sin.' ' 

Little  Jack  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs 
and  yelled:  "Mr.  Wartle,  Mr.  Wartle." 

Wartle  ran  to  the  banister,  crying  impa- 
tiently: "Yes,  yes,  yes!" 

"There's  a  gentleman  at  the  door  who  wants 
to  see  you!" 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR          23 

He  hung  his  head  over  the  banister  and  in- 
structed Jack  to  inform  the  caller  that  he 
would  be  down  at  once. 

"Perhaps  hit's  someone  looking  for  ha  room. 
Hi'll  see  you  when  you're  goin'  hout,"  and  he 
waved  his  little  stubby  hand  at  Mrs.  Murray 
as  he  started  down  the  stairs. 

"Oi'm  goin'  to  wait  fer  Weatherbee." 

Wartle  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 
tapped  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  with  the  first 
finger  of  his  right  and  nodded  his  head  as  he 
uttered  each  word: 

"Hif  hit's  someone  for  ha  room,  hand  they'll 
take  hit,  Hi'll  give  'em  this  one." 

He  heard  Jack  laughing  heartily  on  the 
stairs  of  the  floor  below.  Wartle  listened.  He 
heard  a  kind,  heavy  voice  say  to  the  child : 

"One  more  flight  after  this,  and  it's  better  to 
go  up  than  down." 

He  recognized  the  voice  and  said  to  Mrs. 
Murray,  in  a  tone  that  would  suggest  the  com- 
ing of  a  burglar:  "  'Ere's  Weatherbee  now!" 
and  stationed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

Mrs.  Murray  walked  to  the  corner  of  the 
room  and  seated  herself  in  the  wooden  rocker, 


24          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

crossed  her  legs,  determined  to  have  a  reckon- 
ing with  John  Weatherbee,  who  was  slowly 
approaching  the  top  step  of  the  old  stairs,  car- 
rying little  Jack  over  his  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  III 

AS  JohnWeatherbee's  tall,  thin  figure,  clad  in 
a  dark  blue  suit  which  had  done  summer  and 
winter  service  for  many  seasons  and  worn 
threadbare  in  many  places,  reached  the  top 
step,  he  stood  Jack  on  his  feet  and  patted  each 
cheek  affectionately,  saying  in  a  low,  cheerful 
voice:  "There  you  are.  Dad  is  a  pretty  good 
old  elevator,  isn't  he?" 

He  bade  Wartle  a  polite  "good-morning," 
and  an  amused  expression  came  over  his  clean- 
shaven face  when  he  turned  and  saw  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray sitting  in  the  crippled  rocker. 

"Oh — I — good-morning,  Mrs.  Murray." 

"Good-mornin',"  was  the  quick  reply  in  a 
cold,  hard  tone. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  The  twinkle 
crept  out  of  Weatherbee's  kind  blue  eyes,  and 
an  expression  of  sadness  stole  into  his  face  as 
he  turned  to  hang  the  faded  derby  on  a  nail  in 
the  wall. 

"Hi'll  be  back  in  ha  few  minutes,  Mr.  Weath- 

25 


26          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

erbee.  Hi  want  to  speak  to  you,"  and  Wartle 
grunted  his  way  down  to  the  ground  floor. 

"I  wonder  what  he  wants  to  speak  to  me 
about?"  he  asked  playfully. 

"It's  about  his  room  rint,"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Murray. 

"Mrs.  Murray,  he  talks  about  it  in  his  sleep." 
His  long  well-formed  hands  found  their  way 
to  his  trousers  pockets.  He  heaved  a  deep 
sigh  and  tried  to  hide  its  cause  by  remarking: 
"It's  a  hard  climb  up  those  stairs." 

"It  takes  ivery  bit  of  wind  out  of  me,"  Mrs. 
Murray  replied,  and  the  serious  tone  of  her 
voice  showed  she  was  not  trying  to  be  funny. 

But  Weatherbee's  sense  of  humor  teased  him 
and  he  saw  a  chance  to  carry  on  a  conversation 
for  a  few  moments  that  wouldn't  injure  any- 
one and  might  postpone  the  subject  he  knew 
Mrs.  Murray  was  there  to  talk  on.  He  always 
found  her  ready  to  accept  praise,  especially 
about  her  youth;  in  fact,  she  was  quite  con- 
ceited about  her  strength  and  often  told  how 
she  could  outdo  her  twenty-six-year-old 
daughter  "washin'."  He  looked  at  her  pleas- 
antly and  his  voice  possessed  a  slight  tone  of 
reproach: 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR          27 

"O  Mrs.  Murray,  you  have  wind  enough  to 
climb  to  the  top  of  the  Flat  Iron  Building." 

The  remark  hit  her  bump  of  conceit.  She 
rocked  herself  slowly  in  the  old  wooden  chair 
that  squeaked  at  every  move.  "Faith,  Oi  ain't 
got  half  the  wind  Oi  used  to  have,"  and  then 
she  added  with  a  great  deal  of  pride,  "but  Oi 
can  go  some  yit." 

Weatherbee  saw  that  he  was  safe  from  being 
dunned  for  money  as  long  as  he  could  keep  her 
mind  centered  on  herself,  so  he  continued: 
"Why,  I  always  thought  you  were  just  full  of 
wind." 

"Sure,  Oi  used  to  be.  Oi  used  to  could  be  on 
the  go  all  day  and  it  niver  bothered  me,"  and 
she  swung  herself  in  the  little  chair  from  one 
end  of  its  short  rockers  to  the  other. 

Weatherbee  turned  to  hide  his  smile  and 
fumbled  with  some  sheets  of  manuscript  on  the 
table. 

"It  bothers  other  people  though,  doesn't  it?" 

"What  does?"  and  she  brought  the  rocker  to 
a  sudden  stop. 

"Why,  their  wind." 

"Well,  other  people's  wind  don't  bother  me, 


28          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

unless  they  gab  too  much  with  it.  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee,  Oi'd  like  some  money." 

The  sheets  of  paper  fell  from  his  ringers.  He 
was  called  upon  to  answer  the  question  that 
was  put  to  him  so  often  each  day  and  he  re- 
fused to  answer  them  with  promises,  fearing 
he  would  be  unable  to  fulfill  them.  He  tried 
to  face  his  embarrassment  with  courage,  but 
he  had  resorted  to  it  so  often  that  it  was  grow- 
ing weak,  and  though  his  voice  was  firm  it 
lacked  confidence,  but  was  always  hopeful. 

"Is  that  the  reason  you  haven't  been  around 
for  the  past  few  days,  Mrs.  Murray?" 

"It  is,"  she  replied  quickly.  "Oi've  bin  mak- 
in'  up  yer  room  and  doin'  yer  washin'  and  walk- 
in'  five  blocks  to  git  here  and  fer  the  past 
month  ye  ain't  showed  me  the  color  of  a  tin 
cint  piece,  and  Oi'll  do  it  no  more  'til  ye  pay 
me." 

"Mrs.  Murray,  I  can't  ask  you  to  do  any 
more  until  I  pay  you  and  I  shall  pay  you  just  as 
soon  as  I  possibly  can.  I  am  very  grateful 
to  you  for  trusting  me  as  long  as  you  have  and 
I  am  extremely  sorry  that  I  have  had  to  keep 
you  waiting." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          29 

"Yer  not  half  as  sorry  as  Oi  am,"  she  grunt- 
ed sarcastically.  "If  ye'd  go  to  wurk  at  some- 
thin'  instid  of  foolin'  yer  toime  away  wroitin' 
a  lot  of  trash  that  no  one  would  waste  toime 
raidin',  sure  that  mess  of  stuff  that  was  writ  in 
toipewritin'  that  ye  give  me  to  raid  would  make 
annyone  sick  to  their  stomich.  The  two  love- 
sick fools  chasing  each  other  around  the  coun- 
try, an'  no  humin  bein'  could  raid  it  fer  the  jaw- 
breakin'  wurds  ye  use  in  it.  Oi  don't  see  how 
ye  invint  such  wurds  as  is  in  that  thing.  Can 
ye  let  me  have  a  dollar?" 

"Mrs.  Murray,  if  I  had  a  dollar  I  think  I'd 
forget  myself  and  pawn  it!" 

She  paused  a  second  as  she  watched  him 
with  his  hands  in  his  empty  pockets  gazing  at 
the  floor. 

"Well,  whoy  don't  ye  go  to  wurk?  Ye  can 
wroite  and  spell  and  figure.  Whoy  don't  ye 
git  a  job  on  a  street  car  or  git  into  a  store  as  a 
clerk?  There  is  plinty  of  things  ye  could  do  if 
ye  wasn't  so  lazy! 

"Ye  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yerself  adoptin' 
a  boy  and  then  keepin'  him  lookin'  like  a  rag- 
bag." 


30          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

She  walked  to  the  banister  and  found 
Wartle's  face  sticking  up  over  the  railing. 

"Hare  you  goin'  'ome?"  he  whispered. 

"Yis,  Oi'm  wastin'  me  toime  here,"  she 
answered  as  she  started  down  the  stairs. 

"Don't  forgit  tonight."  He  ran  his  fat 
fingers  up  among  his  side-whiskers  and  rested 
his  red  face  on  both  hands,  as  he  eyed  Weath- 
erbee  severely. 

"Mr.  Weatherbee,  Hi'd  like  to  know  what 
you  hintend  to  do  habout  the  rent?" 

"I  intend  to  pay  you,  Mr.  Wartle." 

"When?" 

"Just  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"You've  been  tellin'  me  that  hevery  day  for 
hover  two  months!" 

"Not  every  day,  Mr.  Wartle." 

"Hevery  day." 

"I  thought  there  was  one  day  that  you  for- 
got to  ask  me." 

"No,  sir,"  returned  Wartle. 

"Perhaps  I'm  wrong." 

"You  hare  wrong,"  snapped  Wartle,  "hand 
Hi'm  sick  hand  tired  working  this  way  for 


"Wartle  eyed  Weatherbee  severely  with  his  small  gray  eyes" 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR          31 

my  rent,  hand  Hi'm  not  ha  goin'  to  hask  you 
hagain." 

"Wartle,  do  you  mean  that?" 

"Hi  do  mean  hit." 

"Hurrah !"  exclaimed  Jack  from  the  other 
side  of  the  banister,  where  he  was  studying  an 
old  torn  picture  book. 

"Jack!"  Weatherbee  called  in  a  mildly  repri- 
manding tone. 

"Hi  want  my  rent  hor  my  room  Saturday," 
and  he  pounded  his  fist  on  the  railing. 

"Mr.  Wartle,  I'd  like  to  be  able  to  give  you 
both." 

"Ho,  hif  you  pay  your  rent  you  can  stay,  but 
hif  you  don't  pay  me  Hi  must  'ave  my  room 
Saturday,  hunderstand,  Saturday,"  and  he 
muttered  to  himself  going  down  the  stairs. 

Jack  peeked  at  him  from  around  the  edge  of 
the  banister  and  made  a  face  that  sent  his  little 
nose  high  in  the  air.  "Dad,  if  we  have  to  move, 
where  shall  we  go?" 

He  asked  the  question  that  Weatherbee 
was  silently  asking  himself  and  couldn't 
answer,  but  he  had  never  failed  to  find  a  cheer- 
ful reply  to  Jack's  many,  many  questions  and 


32          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

they  were  growing  more  numerous  and  more 
difficult  each  day. 

"Oh,  we'll  find  a  place  somewhere,"  and  he 
supplied  his  voice  with  a  note  of  cheerfulness: 
"Perhaps  we'll  go  camping." 

Jack's  eyes  opened  wide  and  his  face  broke 
into  a  happy  smile.  "Under  a  tent?" 

"Yes,  under  a  tent,  or  a  tree  or  something. 
Won't  that  be  fine?" 

Jack  yelled  as  he  hung  to  his  father's  hand 
jumping  up  and  down  with  delight. 

Weatherbee  drew  him  close  to  his  side  and 
pressed  both  cheeks  affectionately. 

"I  tell  you  we'll  have  a  great  time,  won't 
we!" 

"And  we'll  cook  under  a  tree  like  the  In- 
dians?" 

"Yes,  we'll  catch  frogs  and  have  frog's  legs 
for  breakfast  and  we'll  shoot  wild  ducks  and 
cook  'em  for  dinner." 

"I  wish  I  had  some  now." 

"  You  play  with  your  blocks.  I've  a  big  sur- 
prise in  store  for  you  for  your  lunch." 

Jack  took  his  seat  on  the  floor  by  his  toy 
hospital  and  studied  its  construction  carefully. 


"Jack  took  his  seat  on  the  floor  by  his  loy  hospital" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          33 

Weatherbee  sank  into  an  old  wooden  chair, 
and  his  mind  traveled  from  one  end  of  his  situ- 
ation to  the  other,  without  finding  any  way  of 
improving  it. 

The  sun  peeked  in  through  the  little  window 
and  seemed  to  dance  on  Jack's  light  curls  as  he 
held  his  elbow  in  one  hand  and  rested  his  chin 
in  the  other. 

''Dad,  what  does  God  do  with  the  old  moon 
when  he  sends  the  new  moon  out?" 

"What's  that?" 

"I  say  what  does  God  do  with  the  old  moon 
when  he  sends  the  new  moon  out?" 

Weatherbee  pretended  to  clear  his  throat  a 
few  times  while  he  searched  for  a  reply. 

"Why — a — why,  he  just  stores  it  away  in  the 
clouds." 

"I  thought  you  said  the  clouds  were  made  of 
water." 

"They  are." 

"Well,  I  should  think  the  moons  would  fall 
out  and  down  on  the  earth." 

"Well,  you  see — you  see — a — the  moon  floats 
—the  moon  floats  like  a  cork — yes — the  moon 
floats  like  a  cork." 

"On  this  side  of  the  clouds  or  the  other?" 


34          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"On  the  other  side,  of  course,  on  the  other 
side." 

Jack's  eyes  grew  more  quizzical  and  the 
wrinkles  in  his  little  forehead  deepened  as  he 
pulled  his  brows  together. 

"How  is  it  that  the  new  moon  floats  on  this 
side?"  and  he  drew  his  little  feet  close  under  his 
limbs  and  his  bare  knees  stuck  straight  up  in 
the  air. 

Weatherbee  "ahemed"  a  few  times  and 
finally  started  to  speak,  not  knowing  just  what 
he  was  going  to  say. 

"Well,  I  guess  the  moon  doesn't  float  until 
it's  full  and — a — when  it  is  full  it  becomes — a— 
so  full  of  cork  that  it  just  floats  right  up  to  the 
other  side." 

"I  guess  the  other  side  of  the  clouds  must  be 
full  of  moons,  mustn't  it?" 

"Oh,  yes — my,  yes — the  other  side  is  all  cov- 
ered with  moons — it's  just  full  of  moons." 

"How  many  moons  do  you  think  are  up 
there?" 

"Oh,  thousands  and  thousands  and  thou- 
sands," and  he  peeked  over  his  shoulder  to 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR          35 

find  Jack  still  sitting  in  the  same  position  and 
his  eyes  dancing  with  wonderment. 

"Can  they  talk  to  each  other?" 

"Oh,  my,  yes,  yes.  They  can  talk  and  laugh 
and  sing  and  dance !" 

"Can  they  really  dance?" 

"Yes,  they  dance  and  kick  up  and  have  a 
lovely  time." 

"How  can  they  dance  and  kick  up?  The 
moon  hasn't  any  legs!" 

"Well-a-you  see  the  moons  are  round  and 
they  roll  around  like  balls  and— 

"You  said  they  kicked  up!"  A  disappointed 
look  came  over  Jack's  face  as  he  lifted  his  head 
and  looked  at  his  father  reproachfully. 

"Well,"  continued  Weatherbee:  "They 
bound  up  like  rubber  balls"  and  he  moved  his 
hands  grotesquely  to  illustrate  their  bounding. 
Jack  placed  his  chin  back  in  his  hand  and  in- 
quired more  seriously  than  ever:  "What  do 
the  stars  do?" 

"What?" 

"What  do  the  stars  do  when  they  are  not  on 
this  side  of  the  clouds?" 

Weatherbee  rested  his  elbow  on  the  table, 
crossed  his  legs  and  sighed  in  despair: 


36          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

''Don't  you  want  to  go  down  stairs  and  play 
with  the  cat?" 

Jack  jumped  to  his  feet  with  a  shout  and 
started  for  the  stairs. 

"Don't  make  a  noise  and  don't  go  out  on  the 
street." 

"No,  I  won't,"  he  cried,  then  stepped  aside 
and  bowed  politely  . 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Warner."  He  took  the 
end  of  Warner's  cane  and  pulled  him  to  the 
center  of  the  room  and  ran  down  the  stairs 
yelling:  "I'm  going  to  play  with  the  cat,  Mr. 
Warner." 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHEN  Jack's  voice  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, it  left  two  smiling  faces  in  the  little 
room.  Weatherbee  leaned  against  the  edge  of 
the  door  that  opened  into  a  small  closet,  and 
dreamed  back  over  the  child's  life  until  he  saw 
him  sitting  on  the  floor  of  the  little  hall  bed- 
room, playing  with  a  piece  of  old  rubber  doll, 
and  he  heard  him  clap  his  tiny  hands  as  he 
watched  Weatherbee  pouring  milk  into  his 
nursing  bottle.  He  saw  his  mother's  frail 
figure  lying  on  the  bed  and  heard  her  pleading 
to  him  to  care  for  her  babe.  He  heard  the 
friendless  woman  praying  for  her  child  and 
wondered  if  she  could  see  him  now  with  the 
cat. 

Warner  knew  that  Weatherbee's  visit  with 
Mrs.  Murray  had  been  anything  but  pleasant 
and  he  tugged  at  his  mind  for  something  en- 
couraging to  say,  as  he  tapped  his  way  to  the 
crippled  rocker  with  his  cane. 

"John,  you  haven't  told  me  about  that  enter- 

37 


38          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

tainment  you  went  to,  given  by  that  'Ten  Club.' 
Who  recited  your  poem?" 

"The  most  beautiful  girl  I  have  ever  seen.  I 
got  dizzy  when  I  saw  her  and  heard  her  speak 
—dark  hair — tall — slender — and  her  voice— 

"Why  didn't  you  introduce  yourself?"  inter- 
rupted Warner  gruffly. 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I 
thought  of  it,  but  I  took  a  peek  at  the  fringe  on 
these  trousers  and  said  to  myself,  if  she  sees 
me  coming,  she'll  give  me  a  nickel  and  ask  me 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf." 

"John,  any  girl  who  likes  poetry  loves  rags. 
Whose  poem  won  the  prize?" 

Weatherbee  informed  him  that  his  was  the 
favorite  poem,  and  Warner  jumped  to  his  feet 
shouting  "Hurrah"  in  a  voice  that  could  have 
been  heard  a  block  away. 

"What  was  the  prize,  John?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  haven't  received  it  yet. 
The  club  wrote  me  stating  that  it  would  be  pre- 
sented at  a  luncheon  to  which  they  invited  me." 

Warner  swung  his  cane  in  the  air.  "Hurrah 
for  Weatherbee,"  and  his  face  was  quite  red 
with  excitement. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          39 

"But,  Warner,  I  had  to  decline  the  invita- 
tion." 

"Why?" 

"If  you  could  see  me,  Warner,  you  wouldn't 
ask.  I  look  like  a  December  leaf  on  a  chestnut 
tree." 

"Those  people  won't  look  at  your  clothes." 

"They  won't,"  replied  Weatherbee  humor- 
ously, "for  I  won't  give  them  a  chance.  Why, 
Warner,  I  wouldn't  have  that  girl  see  me — 
why — she's — she's — I  wish  I  could  describe  her 
to  you." 

"John,  I  never  heard  you  try  so  hard  to  talk 
about  a  girl  before — you  are  in  love — and  I  bet 
my  life  if  she  knew  you  as  well  as  I  do,  she'd  be 
in  love  with  you!" 

"Warner,  if  that  girl  spoke  to  me,  I'd  fall 
down !" 

"You'd  get  up  again  and  the  fall  would  do 
you  good,"  and  he  rested  himself  in  the  little 
chair  and  rocked  contentedly. 

"You  never  know  where  love  is  going  to 
light,  John." 

"Warner,  I'm  ashamed  of  myself  for  even 
thinking  of  that  girl." 

"Why?" 


40          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Why,  a  pauper  like  me,  with  every  stitch  of 
clothes  I  own  hanging  in  the  pawn  shop,  and  I 
owe  money  to  everyone  I  know  and  no  chance 
to  pay  them." 

"John,  you  have  every  chance  in  the  world 
to  pay  them.  Here  you  are  twenty-five  years 
old  and  you  have  written  half  a  dozen  books 
and  every  one  of  them  is  clever,  and  they'll  be 
published  some  day  and  you'll  be  a  rich  man. 
Each  book  is  original.  You  have  a  style  of 
your  own.  There  is  no  writer  today  writing  in 
the  vein  you  are  writing  in." 

"Maybe  that  is  the  reason  I  can't  get  any  of 
them  published." 

"Patience,  John,  patience.  I  wish  my 
chances  were  as  good  as  yours — you're  young! 
You  have  everything  before  you !  Look  at  me, 
an  old  newspaper  reporter  out  of  a  job  and 
can't  get  one  because  I'm  so  blind  I  can't  see 
to  write  a  word. 

"John,  I  can't  see  anything.  I  can't  see  when 
the  sun  is  shining,  but  I  can  walk  and  not  very 
good  at  that,  for  my  old  legs  are  so  full  of  rheu- 
matism and  age,  they  can  hardly  carry  my  old 
body,  but  I  make  them.  I  won't  give  up  and 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          41 

I  hobble  over  to  Central  Park  where  I  can 
smell  the  green  and  feel  the  breeze  from  the 
trees  and  hear  the  birds  sing.  I  can't  see  them, 
but  I  can  hear  them  sing,  and  there  is  an  old 
robin  up  there,  just  inside  the  Seventy-second 
Street  entrance,  that  seems  to  know  when  I 
come  in  and  he  sings  and  sings  and  when  the 
carriages  drive  by  and  make  a  noise,  he  seems 
to  grow  jealous,  and  he  sings  louder  for  fear  I 
can't  hear  him  and  when  I  start  to  come  away 
he  seems  to  sing  good-bye  and  I  can  hear  him 
until  I  get  away  out  into  Broadway,  and  I'm 
happy,  damn  it,  John,  I'm  happy.  I  won't  be 
sad.  I'm  happy,  they  can't  make  me  sad,  John, 
they  can't  make  me  sad,"  but  his  smile  would 
have  been  moistened  if  he  hadn't  sneaked  the 
tears  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes  with  his  bare 
fingers,  and  Weatherbee  stood  in  silence  while 
his  heart  applauded  the  man  who  smiled  at  the 
world  he  couldn't  even  see. 

He  sauntered  over  and  slapped  him  on  the 
back,  and  then  gave  his  ear  a  slight  pull  and 
placed  his  hand  on  Warner's  head  and  shook 
it  affectionately. 

"Warner,  I'm  proud  of  you.    I  am  proud  to 


42          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

know  you,"  and  he  gave  his  ear  another  little 
affectionate  twist. 

"You  mustn't  get  discouraged,  John." 
"Why,  Warner,  I  am  not  discouraged." 
"Don't  you  bother  your  head  about  what  you 
have  hanging  in  the  pawn  shop.    You  are  go- 
ing to  look  back  at  these  days  and  smile." 

"Warner,  I  smile  at  them  now,  bless  your 
heart!  When  I  see  a  funeral  I  laugh  because 
I'm  not  in  the  hearse,"  and  he  seated  himself 
on  the  table  and  swung  his  feet  to  and  fro  as 
he  described  to  Warner  the  humorous  picture 
he  had  of  himself  leaving  the  small  town  of  his 
birth  and  starting  out  to  set  New  York  City 
afire  with  his  literary  efforts. 

"Whenever  I  am  in  need  of  a  laugh,  Warner, 
I  look  at  myself  driving  up  to  this  house  in  a 
cab,  renting  the  parlor  on  the  ground  floor,  and 
as  my  bank  account  shrunk,  I  moved  one  flight 
at  a  time  until  I  have  reached  here." 
"It's  easier  to  go  down  than  up,  John." 
"I  think  I  was  the  most  conceited  pup  that 
ever  struck  New  York!" 

"You  don't  know  what  conceit  is.  You  gave 
away  more  money  than  you  spent.  You  helped 


THE    GUEST    OF    HONOR          43 

the  sick  and  you  fed  the  hungry.  You  have 
worked  earnestly  and  you  will  be  rewarded 
and  you  should  be  proud  of  your  poverty." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  poverty,  Warner.  Hon- 
est poverty  has  stolen  wealth  sitting  up  nights 
taking  sleeping  tablets  and  if  I  don't  do  some 
hustling,  I'll  be  sitting  up  nights  myself,"  he 
remarked  with  a  dry  smile,  and  picked  up  a 
small  photograph  in  a  wooden  frame  that  was 
standing  on  the  table. 

"That  girl  who  recited  my  poem  is  the  im- 
age of  Jack's  mother,"  Warner  smiled  as  he 
swung  himself  gently  in  the  little  rocker  that 
squeaked  at  every  move,  but  its  squeak  was 
soon  buried  by  the  sound  of  Jack's  voice. 

"Rub-dub-dub.  Rub-dub-dub.  Rubidy— dub- 
idy — dub-dub-dub.  Rub-dub-dub.  Rub-dub- 
dub.  Rubidy — dubidy — dub-dub-dub."  He 
pounded  his  little  feet  on  each  step  of  the  old 
stairs  until  he  reached  the  top  and  stuck  out 
his  chest  and  yelled:  "I'm  a  soldier,"  and  con- 
tinued the  rub-dub-dub  as  he  marched  down  to 
his  father's  side  and  saluted. 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  cat,  Captain?" 

Jack  saluted  again,  and  held  the  edge  of  his 


44          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

hand  to  his  temple  as  he  replied  in  a  deep  tone: 
"I  pulled  its  tail,  General,  and  it  ran  down  into 
the  basement  and  out  of  the  back  door." 

Weatherbee  ran  his  fingers  through  Jack's 
curls  and  shook  his  little  head  as  he  squeezed  it 
tightly  between  his  hands. 

"Mr.  Warner,  we  are  going  camping." 

"When?" 

"When  are  we  going,  Dad?" 

"I  think  we  are  liable  to  go  about  Saturday." 

"An'  we'll  take  Mr.  Warner,  won't  we?" 

"If  you  don't  take  me,  I  won't  take  you  over 
to  Mrs.  Turner's  for  any  more  of  her  nice  jelly 
cake." 

"We  wouldn't  go  any  place  unless  we  took 
Mr.  Warner,  would  we,  Dad?" 

"You  bet  we  wouldn't,"  and  he  gave  his  head 
another  little  affectionate  shake.  "You  run 
down  stairs  and  ask  Mr.  Wartle  what  time  it 
is,"  and  he  was  almost  to  the  next  floor  before 
Weatherbee  had  time  to  get  to  the  banister  and 
warn  him  not  to  call  him  "Wartie"  and  he 
yelled  back  a  promising  "no"  from  the  second 
floor  below. 

"Does  he  know  you  are  going  to  send  him 
over  to  Mrs.  Turner's  for  lunch,  John?" 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR          45 

"No,  I  haven't  told  him  yet.  I've  kept  it  as 
a  surprise  for  him.  Warner,"  he  continued  as 
he  folded  his  arms  and  leaned  against  the  ban- 
ister, "you  have  been  holding  out  on  me  for  the 
past  two  days." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Have  you  grown  tired  of  my  cooking?" 

"How  can  you  ask  that  after  the  way  I  ate 
here  the  other  night?" 

"Where  have  you  been  eating  since,  then?" 

"At  Mrs.  Turner's." 

There  was  a  note  of  doubt  in  Weatherbee's 
voice  as  he  walked  down  to  Warner  and  re- 
marked slowly:  "You  haven't  been  over  to 
Mrs.  Turner's  for  your  meals  for  two  days  in 
succession !  You  have  been  staying  away  be- 
cause you  thought  I  didn't  have  enough  to  go 
around." 

He  placed  his  hands  on  the  back  of  the  rock- 
er and  leaned  down  over  Warner  and  after  a 
short  pause  whispered  in  a  voice  of  determina- 
tion that  startled  Warner,  for  he  had  never 
heard  the  note  in  Weatherbee's  voice  before! 

"Warner,  before  I'll  see  Jack  hungry,  I'll 
steal,  and  when  it  comes  to  that,  I'll  steal 


46          THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR 

enough  for  the  three  of  us,  so  you  come  here 
and  eat  until  I  cry  quits." 

"It  is  five  minutes  to  twelve,"  Jack  shouted 
as  he  ran  up  the  stairs. 

Weatherbee  clapped  his  hands  together  and 
exclaimed  in  a  jovial  tone:  "By  jove,  I  almost 
forgot  something.  Come  here  till  I  wash  your 
hands  and  face,"  and  he  picked  him  up  and 
stood  him  on  the  table  and  ran  to  the  closet 
and  got  a  sponge  and  rubbed  his  little  hands 
and  face  quickly. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Dad?"  and  his  big  eyes 
were  wide  open  with  surprise. 

"Why,  Dad  almost  forgot  that  he  has  to  go 
out  on  business,  and  Mr.  Warner  is  going  to 
take  you  over  to  Mrs.  Turner's  for  luncheon, 
what  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"Oh,  that  is  dandy,"  and  his  words  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  sponge. 

"Dad  has  got  to  go  out  on  business,  under- 
stand, regular  business." 

Jack  shut  his  eyes  and  held  his  face  up  as 
Weatherbee  bounced  the  sponge  against  his 
mouth  when  he  tried  to  talk  and  after  a  hard 
struggle  finally  asked:  "What  business?" 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR          47 

"  Oh,  regular  business,"  Weatherbee 
answered,  and  ran  for  the  towel  and  covered 
Jack's  face  when  he  tried  to  talk  through  it. 

"A  boo— o— ok?" 

"Yes,  that's  it — a  book.  Where  is  your  hat 
-quick!" 

"Dad's  in  a  hurry,  an  awful  hurry."  Jack 
ran  and  got  his  little  faded  straw  hat  and 
Weatherbee  tied  the  blue  streamers  under  his 
chin  and  gave  him  a  kiss  that  made  the  child 
gasp  for  breath. 

"There  you  are!"  He  put  his  little  hand 
in  Warner's,  who  was  waiting  at  the  banisters. 

"Good-bye,  and  give  my  love  to  Mrs.  Tur- 
ner," he  yelled,  as  Jack  led  Warner  down  the 
stairs. 

"We  will.  I  hope  they  print  your  book, 
Dad,"  he  shouted,  pulling  Warner  around  the 
corner  of  the  hall  below. 


CHAPTER  V 

"DO  you  wish  to  stop  here?"  inquired  the 
chauffeur  in  a  doubtful  tone,  as  he  brought  the 
large  touring  car  to  a  stop  and  looked  with 
much  disgust  at  the  dirty  windows  which 
Wartle  had  not  washed  for  months. 

"Have  you  driven  to  the  address  I  gave 
you?"  Miss  Kent  asked  gently. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Then  we  would  like  to  get  out,  please." 
And  the  chauffeur  opened  the  door  of  the  car 
quickly. 

Wartle's  face  became  a  study  of  wonderment 
as  he  peeked  from  the  basement  window  and 
saw  the  two  beautifully  gowned  young  ladies 
assisted  from  the  automobile  by  a  smartly 
dressed  young  man,  whose  hands  were  covered 
with  bright  chamois  gloves,  a  necktie  of  the 
same  color  and  a  walking  stick  almost  as  large 
as  himself. 

"What  can  they  want  'ere?"  Wartle  mut- 
tered to  himself,  as  he  ran  up  the  stairs  and 
opened  the  door. 

"Does  Mr.  Weatherbee  live  here?" 

48 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          49 

And  the  music  of  Miss  Kent's  voice  startled 
Wartle,  bowing  profusely  as  he  went  down  the 
hall,  exclaiming:  "Yes,  ma'am,  right  this  way, 
Hi'll  show  you,"  until  his  heels  struck  the 
lower  step  of  the  stairs  and  he  sat  down  with  a 
thud. 

Neither  Thisby  nor  Helen  Kent  made  any 
effort  to  subdue  their  laughter,  while  they 
watched  Rosamond  assist  Wartle  to  his  feet, 
as  he  mumbled:  "Hexcuse  me,  Hi  thank  you. 
Right  this  way,"  and  started  up  the  stairs. 

Rosamond  found  it  difficult  to  conceal  her 
smile  as  she  shook  her  finger  at  Thisby  and 
Helen,  who  were  giggling  at  Wartle  puffing 
and  grunting  at  each  step. 

"An  automobile  doesn't  make  so  much  noise, 
after  all,"  Thisby  remarked. 

"Hi  think  they're  hawful  things,"  retorted 
Wartle.  "Hi'm  hafraid  hof  my  life  hof  'em!" 

"Have  you  ever  ridden  in  one?"  inquired 
Helen,  whose  voice  showed  that  she  was  not 
accustomed  to  climbing  stairs. 

"No,  ma'am.  Hi  likes  'orses,  but  Hi  'ates 
hautomobiles." 

Helen  giggled  as  she  replied:  "But  'orses 
run  away." 


50          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Ho,  Hi  don't  like  them  kind.  Hi  likes  the 
kind  they  'ave  hon  the  cabs." 

"Do  you  like  donkeys?"  inquired  Thisby. 

"Hi  likes  to  look  hat  them,  but  they're  haw- 
ful  kickers." 

And  Rosamond  shook  her  hands  at  Thisby, 
who  was  trying  to  smother  his  laughter  with 
his  chamois  gloves. 

"Right  hat  the  top  hof  these  stairs  his  Mr. 
Weatherbee's  room,"  and  he  bowed  low  as 
Miss  Rosamond  thanked  him  politely  and  pro- 
ceeded up  the  stairs. 

"In  all  my  life  I  have  never  been  so  high 
up." 

"You  may  never  be  again,  Thisby,"  re- 
turned Rosamond  gently. 

Weatherbee  had  been  cheerfully  doing  the 
work  about  the  room.  He  had  swept  and  put 
everything  in  order  as  best  he  could  and  was 
sitting  at  the  wooden  table  he  used  for  a  writ- 
ing desk,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hand  and 
wondering  if  Warner  was  right  in  his  opinion 
about  his  books.  He  repeated  to  himself  the 
words  Warner  had  so  often  spoken :  "Your 
books  will  be  published  some  day  and  you'll 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR          51 

be  a  rich  man."  He  tried  to  make  himself  be- 
lieve that  Warner  was  right,  but  he  was  afraid 
his  opinion  was  controlled  by  friendship  and  as 
he  sat  there  wondering  and  dreaming,  the 
sound  of  Miss  Kent's  voice  fell  upon  his  ears, 
as  gently  and  softly  as  some  wonderful  strain 
of  music  he  had  once  dreamed  of,  and  he 
thought  he  was  still  dreaming,  and  he  was  not 
surprised,  for  he  had  thought  of  her  constantly 
since  the  first  time  he  saw  her  and  heard  her 
voice  and  he  closed  his  eyes  and  he  smiled  and 
raised  his  head  slowly  and  imagined  he  saw  her 
standing  on  the  stage  reciting  his  poem:  "As 
the  Sun  Said  Good-bye  to  the  Moon." 

When  she  reached  the  top  step  she  rested 
her  hand  on  the  quaint  little  banister  and  took 
in  the  room  with  a  glance;  the  atmosphere  of 
artistic  poverty  it  possessed  fascinated  her. 
She  felt  as  if  the  room  belonged  to  the  poem 
and  the  poem  belonged  to  the  room  and  both 
were  a  part  of  the  author. 

"Does  Mr.  Weatherbee  live  here?"  she  asked 
softly. 

Weatherbee  raised  his  head  quickly,  then 
jumped  to  his  feet,  and  gasped,  "I  beg  your 
pardon!" 


52          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Does  Mr.  Weatherbee  live  here?"  she  re- 
peated. 

"No,"  he  mumbled  in  a  quivering  voice,  as 
he  pulled  his  cuff  down  below  the  edge  of 
his  coat  sleeve.  "This  is  Mr.  Weatherbee's 
studio,  but — but  he  doesn't  live — here,"  and 
he  gave  the  other  cuff  a  sudden  jerk  and 
pushed  the  ends  of  his  streaming  tie  under  his 
waistcoat. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  and  Miss  Kent  took  a  few  steps 
toward  the  center  of  the  room.  "Is  he  in?" 

"No — he — he  hasn't  been  here  this  morning, 
yet." 

"Do  you  represent  Mr.  Weatherbee  in  any 
way?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "I — I  am  Mr. 
Weatherbee's  secretary,"  and  he  bowed 
politely. 

"I  am  Miss  Kent  of  the  'Young  Women's 
Ten  Club'  and  have  called  to  thank  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee for  the  beautiful  poem  he  sent  us  and  tell 
him  what  a  great  success  it  was." 

"That  is  indeed  kind  of  you — I" — and  he 
corrected  himself  quickly,  "Mr.  Weatherbee 
heard  you  recite  it." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          53 

"Oh,  was  he  there?"  Miss  Kent  inquired 
eagerly,  as  she  advanced  toward  Weatherbee 
quickly. 

"Yes,  he  and  I  went  together.  He  was  kind 
enough  to  take  me;  in  fact  he  takes  me  most 
every  place  he  goes." 

"And  you  say  he  really  liked  it?"  Helen  ex- 
claimed as  if  she  thought  such  a  thing  were 
really  impossible. 

Weatherbee  bowed  his  head  slightly,  and 
placed  his  hands  behind  his  back. 

"I  never  knew  Mr.  Weatherbee  to  enthuse 
over  anything  as  he  has  over  your  delivery  of 
his  poem.  He  talks  to  me  every  morning  about 
it." 

Miss  Kent  clasped  her  hands  together  and 
she  looked  from  Helen  to  Thisby,  then  ex- 
claimed with  much  enthusiasm,  "How  charm- 
ing!" 

Weatherbee  smiled  and  bowed  gracefully. 
"Yes,  indeed,  he  doesn't  talk  of  anything  else. 
He  breaks  out  every  once  in  a  while  in  a  most 
enthusiastic  manner  and  says:  'Jac^/  Tom— 
Tom — his  name  is  Jack  and  my  name  is  Tom- 
he  always  calls  me  Tom,  yes,  he'll  say,  'Tom, 


54          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

what  a  beautiful  voice  Miss  Kent  has,'  and  I 
agree  with  him;  we  always  agree." 

"You  should  have  heard  some  of  the  compli- 
ments the  ladies  paid  him  as  an  author,"  inter- 
rupted Helen. 

"I'm  sure  it  would  please  him,"  and  he 
bowed  again. 

"Especially  Miss  Kent,"  she  continued,  then 
looked  at  Rosamond  and  laughed. 

"That's  jolly  well  true,"  put  in  Thisby,  who 
was  bored  with  the  conversation. 

"I  don't  think  it  possible  for  Miss  Kent  to 
admire  the  poem  as  much  as  the  author  ad- 
mired the  way  she  delivered  it." 

"We  admire  the  author  who  can  write 
such  beautiful  things." 

And  Helen  laughed  while  she  threw  a  quiz- 
zical glance  at  Rosamond  and  exclaimed, 
"We!" 

Thisby  fanned  himself  with  his  hat,  and 
gazed  from  one  to  the  other.  "A  mutual  ad- 
miration society.  As  for  myself,  I  don't  care  a 
rap  for  poetry!" 

"Why,  Thisby!"  and  there  was  a  note  of  re- 
proach in  Rosamond's  voice. 
.     "I  jolly  well  don't." 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR          55 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  boast  about  it,"  she  re- 
plied, then  turned  to  Weatherbee.  "When  do 
you  expect  Mr.  Weatherbee  in?" 

"I  really  couldn't  say.  He  might  come  in 
any  minute  and  he  might  not  be  here  today 
at  all." 

"This  is  just  our  luck !  We  are  very  anxious 
to  see  him.  The  Club  is  having  a  luncheon  at 
my  home  tomorrow.  We  wrote  and  asked  Mr. 
Weatherbee  to  come,  but  he  declined,  so  we 
were  appointed  as  a  committee  to  call  and  see  if 
we  couldn't  persuade  him  to  come.  We  always 
present  the  prize  to  the  authors  at  the  luncheon 
which  we  give  in  their  honor." 

"Is  he  out  of  town?"  Thisby  asked  in  a 
snappy  tone. 

"No — no,"  returned  Weatherbee  quietly.  "I 
think  he  is  in  the  city;  in  fact  I  am  sure  he  is. 
He  told  me  last  evening  he  was  going  to  re- 
main in  town  all  day  today." 

Helen  suggested  that  he  might  be  home  and 
Weatherbee  nodded  his  head,  replying  in  a 
tone  of  forced  surprise:  "Perhaps  he  is!" 

Thisby  thought  he  had  solved  the  problem 
and  raised  his  voice  with  admiration  at  his 
own  thought.  "Why  not  'phone  him  ?" 


56          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Weatherbee  leaned  forward  quickly,  pre- 
tending the  words  had  escaped  his  ears.  "I 
beg  your  pardon?" 

"I  say,  why  not  'phone  him?"  he  yelled,  and 
Weatherbee  smiled,  then  glanced  about  the 
room  and  raised  his  voice  as  if  he  were  address- 
ing a  deaf  person. 

"Oh,  yes,  but  we  have  no  'phone.  He  did 
have  one,  but  he  had  it  taken  out  because  it 
proved  an  annoyance  when  he  was  writing. 
I'm  sorry  we  haven't  a  'phone,  very  sorry 
indeed." 

"That  is  simple  enough,"  remarked  Helen, 
turning  to  Thisby.  "You  go  out  to  a  drug  store 
and  call  him  up." 

"Yes,  if  you  give  me  his  number,  I'll  go  out 
to  a  drug  store  and  call  him  up." 

Weatherbee's  hesitation  made  it  very  appar- 
ent that  he  was  in  an  embarrassing  position. 

"I'm  extremely  sorry — but — I  am  not  at 
liberty  to  give  his  'phone  number." 

"Is  he  such  a  crank?"  snapped  Thisby. 

"No,  really,  Mr.  Weatherbee  is  the  most 
charming  man  I  have  ever  met." 

Rosamond  interrupted  as  if  she  were  de- 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          57 

fending  an  old  friend:  "I  suppose  he  has  to 
protect  himself  from  newspaper  reporters  and 
publishers?" 

Weatherbee  smiled  grimly,  and  whispered: 
"Especially  the  publishers,"  then  forced  a 
faint  cough  as  he  continued:  "All  the  publish- 
ers chase  after  him.  It's  really  laughable  some- 
times to  see  them  fight  among  themselves  to 
get  his  stories  and  books  and  things."  He 
watched  Rosamond  glancing  about  the  room. 

"Are  any  of  his  books  here?" 

"No,  there  isn't;  in  fact  there  is  hardly  any- 
thing left  here  at  all  now.  He  usually  sends 
his  valuable  things  home,  before  he  goes  away 
for  the  summer." 

"Oh,  is  he  preparing  to  go  away?" 

"I  think  he  is." 

"When  does  he  leave?" 

Weatherbee  smiled,  and  replied  with  a 
great  deal  of  assurance:  "From  what  I  heard 
him  and  the  proprietor  of  the  house  say  this 
morning,  I  think  he'll  leave  about  Saturday." 

"It  is  rather  early." 

"It  is  a  little  earlier  than  he  expected  to  go, 
I  think." 


58          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Where  does  he  go?"  asked  Thisby  bluntly. 

"I  think  he'll  go  camping  this  summer." 

Helen  glanced  at  Rosamond,  then  turned 
and  winked  at  Thisby. 

"Is  Mr.  Weatherbee  a  young  man?" 

"Mr.  Weatherbee  and  I  are  about  the  same 
age." 

"Now,  Rosamond,  you  ask  if  he  is  tall,"  and 
Rosamond  obeyed  with  a  fascinating  smile 
that  became  still  more  fascinating  when 
Weatherbee  informed  her  that  he  was  about 
six  feet. 

"Light  or  dark?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"Rather  light — quite  light."  Helen  laughed 
heartily  and  seated  herself  in  the  rocker. 

"That  settles  it.  Now  we  will  wait  until  he 
comes,"  and  she  laughed  still  harder  when 
Rosamond  replied:  "Oh,  hush,"  and  turned  to 
Weatherbee  quickly.  "Does  he  do  all  his  writ- 
ing here?" 

"Most  of  it." 

"What  a  quaint  spot!  What  a  dear  old 
library!"  Weatherbee  followed  her  to  the 
old  bookcase  and  spoke  in  a  voice  that  trem- 
bled with  admiration:  "He  is  very  fond  of 
antiques." 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR          59 

"May  I  open  it?"  and  she  stepped  back  with 
surprise  as  he  threw  the  doors  open. 

"Oh,  he  has  taken  all  his  books  away!" 

"All  but  this  set  of  Dickens,  and  he  left  those 
until  the  last.  I  think  he'll  have  me  take  these 
away  this  afternoon  or  in  the  morning." 

"Well,  I  am  not  going  to  wait  any  longer, 
Rosamond;  I'll  have  the  chauffeur  drive  me 
home  and  come  back  and  get  you  and  Thisby." 

"No — no,  I'm  going  with  you.  If  I  write  Mr. 
Weatherbee  a  note,  will  you  see  that  he  gets  it 
today?" 

He  arranged  the  pen,  ink  and  paper,  and 
assured  her  in  promising  tones  that  he  would 
deliver  the  note  to  Mr.  Weatherbee  without 
fail. 

"That  is  a  very  good  portrait  of  you,"  Helen 
remarked  while  gazing  at  a  small  painting  of 
Weatherbee  hanging  on  the  wall. 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"Very  much." 

"One  of  Mr.  Weatherbee's  friends  painted 
that  and  gave  it  to  me." 

Thisby  didn't  hesitate  to  say  that  the  nose 
was  too  long,  but  Helen  disagreed  with  him 


60          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

and  inquired  if  there  was  a  picture  of  Mr. 
Weatherbee  in  the  room  and  Weatherbee  tried 
to  save  another  lie  by  looking  in  the  opposite 
direction,  remarking  quietly:  "I  don't  see 
any  now." 

"Do  you  write  at  all?" 

"A  little,  I've  been  studying  for  some  time 
with  Mr.  Weatherbee." 

"Are  you  going  to  be  a  poet?" 

"I  would  like  to  be." 

Thisby  looked  at  Helen  with  a  little  re- 
proach, and  remarked  in  a  firm  tone  that  he 
would  jolly  well  like  to  write  a  poem  that 
would  drive  all  the  ladies  daft,  and  he  laughed 
good-naturedly  when  she  replied  quickly  that 
she  hadn't  any  doubt  that  a  poem  written  by 
him  would  drive  anyone  daft. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing,  Rosamond, 
writing  a  book?" 

As  Rosamond  reached  for  an  envelope, 
her  elbow  hit  the  picture  of  Jack's  mother  and 
it  fell  to  the  floor. 

"You'll  be  sure  and  give  Mr.  Weatherbee 
this  note  today,  won't  you?" 

"Positively,"  he  replied,  taking  the  note  and 
turning  to  conceal  his  smile. 


"Rosamond  looked  at  it  quickly  and  gasped,  '  M  arguerettt 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          61 

"I'm  ready,"  exclaimed  Rosamond  as  she 
turned  to  Helen,  who  was  holding  the  picture 
in  both  hands.  Her  face  was  pale  and  she 
staggered  forward  and  gave  the  picture  to 
Rosamond,  who  looked  at  it  quickly  and 
gasped:  "Marguerette !"  She  tried  to  control 
her  frightened  condition,  and  turned  to  see 
if  either  of  the  men  were  watching  them. 

Thisby  was  resting  on  his  cane  gazing  at 
Weatherbee's  painting  and  Weatherbee  stood 
studying  the  strong,  characteristic  handwrit- 
ing on  the  envelope  addressed  to  himself. 

"Pardon  me,  but  may  I  ask  who  this  is?" 
Rosamond  inquired  in  a  voice  that  did  not  con- 
ceal her  excitement. 

Weatherbee  gazed  at  the  picture  a  second 
and  replied  tenderly:  "A  friend  of  Mr. 
Weatherbee's." 

Rosamond  glared  at  the  picture  again,  and 
whispered:  "I  wish  he  were  here."  She  want- 
ed to  make  further  inquiries,  but  decided  she 
would  wait  and  ask  Weatherbee  himself.  She 
placed  the  picture  on  the  table  and  turned 
toward  the  stairs  to  hide  her  tears. 

"Don't  forget  the  letter,  will  you?     Come, 


62          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Helen.  Thank  you  very  much.  I  hope  we 
haven't  taken  too  much  of  your  time." 

"No,  indeed,"  he  replied,  and  followed  her 
to  the  banister  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her 
face,  but  she  kept  her  head  turned. 

"It  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  me.  Can  you 
find  your  way  out?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  but  he  stole  after  them 
and  opened  the  front  door  just  wide  enough  to 
peek  out  and  see  her  drive  away. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AS  Miss  Kent's  automobile  rolled  up 
Twenty-ninth  Street,  Weatherbee  stood  on  the 
steps  and  watched  the  picture  fade  into 
memory.  He  unfolded  her  letter  that  he  had 
nervously  squeezed  into  a  small  ball  and  sat  on 
the  stone  steps  and  read  it  through  many 
times. 

The  stone  steps,  which  the  scorching  sun  had 
made  hot  enough  to  fry  an  egg  on,  seemed  like 
cushioned  chairs  to  him.  He  forgot  he  was 
sitting — he  forgot  everything  but  the  dream 
he  had  dreamed  so  many  times — he  finished 
the  letter  again,  then  raised  his  head  and 
wondered  if  he  were  still  dreaming. 

He  thought  a  few  seconds  and  started  to 
read  the  letter  again  and  would  have  read  it 
many,  many  times  had  not  the  tapping  of  War- 
ner's cane  on  the  stone  walk  interrupted  him. 
His  good  judgment  told  him  he  was  not  quite 
in  his  right  mind  and  he  tried  hard  to  pull  him- 
self together  and  greet  Warner  in  a  natural 
tone  of  voice. 

63 


64          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Hello,  Warner,  where  is  Jack?"  he  re- 
marked carelessly. 

"Mrs.  Turner  wouldn't  let  me  bring  him 
away.  She  insisted  on  him  staying  until  three 
o'clock  anyway,  and  I  left  the  little  rascal 
there  eating  his  head  off." 

"Warner,  who  do  you  suppose  called  on  me 
while  you  were  away?" 

"Who?" 

"You  couldn't  guess  in  twenty  years." 

"The  publisher!"  exclaimed  Warner,  and  his 
voice  trembled  with  excitement. 

"Guess  again." 

"Who?" 

"No,  you're  still  wrong." 

"Who  was  it,  John?"  And  when  Weatherbee 
informed  him  that  it  was  Miss  Kent,  he  stood 
as  if  he  expected  Warner  to  fall,  but  he  only 
grunted,  "Who  the  devil  is  Miss  Kent?" 

"Why,  the  beautiful  girl  I  told  you  of  who 
recited  my  poem." 

"Ah-ha!"  responded  Warner  in  a  low  tone. 
"In  love  with  the  author." 

"No,  no,  just  called  to — " 

"Oh,  rot,"  interrupted  Warner,  striking  the 
walk  with  his  cane.  "What  did  she  want?" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          65 

"Insisted  that  I  attend  this  luncheon  given 
by  the  'Ten  Club'  at  her  home  tomorrow— 
actually  insists  the  club  sent  her  to  insist." 

"Bully  for  you,  John,  bully  for  you." 

"Sit  down,  Warner,  and  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it." 

They  were  hardly  seated  before  Warner 
jumped  up  and  inquired  if  that  was  the  hottest 
spot  in  New  York  they  could  find  to  sit  on,  and 
on  Weatherbee's  suggestion,  they  started  arm 
in  arm  for  Madison  Square,  and  Warner  shook 
with  laughter  when  Weatherbee  told  him  how 
he  had  succeeded  in  passing  himself  off  as  his 
own  secretary. 

"John,  that  is  a  good  joke  on  her,  and  I'll  bet 
the  society  will  enjoy  it  when  you  tell  them." 

"When  I  tell  them?"  and  he  gave  Warner  a 
searching  glance,  for  he  really  thought  he  was 
jesting. 

"You  don't  think  I  am  going,  do  you, 
Warner?" 

"Certainly  you're  going,"  he  growled. 

"Warner,  would  you  really  have  me  go  to 
that  girl's  house  looking  as  I  do?" 

"By  all  means.    Do  you  suppose  she  thinks 


66          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

your  poems  -were  written  by  a  fine  suit  of 
clothes?  No,  for  a  girl  who  would  look  for  a 
swell  suit  of  clothes  wouldn't  have  a  mind 
broad  enough  to  appreciate  such  a  poem." 

Weatherbee  listened  attentively  to  Warner's 
remark  and  sauntered  along  in  silence,  buried 
in  deep  thought. 

"Our  bench  is  vacant,  Warner,"  he  said  in  a 
low  tone,  as  he  led  him  to  the  seat  they  always 
sat  on  unless  it  was  occupied  by  others  who 
sought  Madison  Square  Park  for  outdoor 
recreation. 

Both  sat  for  several  minutes  in  silence  and 
Warner  knew  there  was  something  out  of  the 
ordinary  on  Weatherbee's  mind.  He  was  sure 
it  was  one  of  two  things.  Either  room  rent  or 
Miss  Kent,  but  owing  to  the  fact  that  Weather- 
bee  had  never  given  any  thought  to  ladies,  he 
was  somewhat  puzzled  as  to  which  it  was,  but 
he  was  silently  betting  on  Miss  Kent. 

"There's  a  little  breeze  here  today,  Warner." 

Warner  smiled  faintly,  for  he  knew  from 
Weatherbee's  tone  that  he  was  not  thinking  of 
the  breeze. 

"There's  always  a  breeze  here,  John,  you  get 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR          67 

it  from  the  east,  west,  north  and  south,  with  a 
double  cross.  This  should  be  called  the  X  of 
New  York." 

"That  would  be  a  good  name  for  it,"  Weath- 
erbee  replied  slowly,  when  he  noticed  the  sug- 
gestion of  the  X  made  by  Broadway  crossing 
Fifth  Avenue. 

"You've  helped  me  thresh  out  a  good  many 
ideas  for  my  novels  in  this  Square,  Warner." 

"I  hope  I'll  be  able  to  help  you  thresh  out  a 
good  many  more,"  Warner  replied  kindly. 
"What  are  you  worried  about,  John?" 
"I'm  not  worried  about  anything." 
"You're  doing  an  awful  lot  of  thinking." 
"I  guess  it's  up  to  me  to  do  a  little  thinking, 
isn't  it,  Warner?" 

"Well,  John,"  and  Warner  dragged  his 
words  out  in  a  soft,  low  tone  and  put  his  hand 
on  Weatherbee's  knee.  "Think,  but  don't 
worry — worry  is  what  keeps  the  undertakers 
busy.  You  have  done  all  the  thinking  and  all 
the  figuring  and  all  the  guessing  there  is  to  be 
done  about  your  books,  and  I  have  guessed  and 
thought  and  figured  with  you.  I  have  advised 
you  because  I  feel  that  I  am  capable  of  advising 


68          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

and  I  know  you  are  going  to  win  out.  I  feel  it. 
I'm  sure  of  it.  It's  only  a  matter  of  time.  I 
can't  see,  but  I  can  hear  and  I'll  bet  both  of  my 
ears  that  I  am  right.  I  won't  bet  on  the  exact 
date  of  the  publication  of  your  novels,  but 
someone  will  recognize  their  worth  and  pub- 
lish them,  but  you  can't  hasten  the  publication 
by  worrying,  so  why  not  give  time  a  chance  for 
a  few  days  and  see  what  it  will  do?  Time  has 
done  a  great  deal  in  the  last  six  hours,"  and 
he  patted  Weatherbee's  knee  affectionately, 
leaned  closer  to  him  and  whispered:  "It  has 
opened  up  an  avenue  in  your  character  that  I 
had  never  heard  of  before!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Weatherbee  asked 
gently. 

Warner  paused  a  few  seconds,  then  leaned 
toward  Weatherbee  and  whispered:  "You're 
in  love!" 

A  long  drawn  out  "What"  forced  Warner  to 
repeat  the  words,  and  he  reached  for  Weather- 
bee's  hand  and  squeezed  it  tightly  and  con- 
tinued in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  emotion. 
"It's  beautiful,  John — it's  beautiful.  I  never 
loved  but  once,  and  I  have  never  been  unhappy 
since." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          69 

"Warner,  I  wouldn't  allow  myself  to  think 
of  love." 

"We  don't  have  to  think  of  it,  John,  it  thinks 
for  us.  You  say  in  one  of  your  stories  that 
'Love  knows  no  law,  it  favors  no  place,  it  has 
no  home,  until  it  dreams,  and  wanders,  until  it 
meets  a  soul  that  it  clings  to  and  either  sings  or 
sobs  its  life  away.' 

"John,  I  never  heard  you  give  a  love  chirp 
until  today  and  I  would  have  given  the  world 
to  have  seen  your  eyes  when  you  were  telling 
me  about  this  lady.  There  was  a  note  in  your 
voice  that  I  never  heard  before." 

Weatherbee  knitted  the  fingers  of  both 
hands  together  and  gazed  steadily  at  the  walk, 
and  Warner  only  became  more  amused  when 
Weatherbee  earnestly  insisted  that  he  had  not 
even  thought  of  love. 

"Warner,"  he  went  on  in  a  low,  sincere  tone, 
"if  I  started  to  fall  in  love  in  my  present  posi- 
tion, I'd  lose  all  respect  for  myself.  When  Miss 
Kent  walked  out  on  the  stage  to  deliver  my 
poem  I  was  somewhat  frightened  because  she 
was  the  living  image  of  the  girl  I  had  described 
in  the  poem,  the  girl  I  dreamed  of  when  I  was 


70          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

writing  the  poem  stood  before  me.  I  admired 
the  natural,  sincere  way  she  read  it  and  I  would 
have  liked  to  have  gone  to  her  and  thanked 
her." 

"But  instead  of  that,"  interrupted  Warner, 
"she  came  to  you." 

He  drew  the  end  of  his  cane  back  and  forth 
on  the  cement  walk  a  few  times  and  then  con- 
tinued in  a  kind  but  somewhat  amused  tone. 

"John,  did  she  state  in  her  invitation  how 
she  wished  you  to  dress?" 

"Certainly  not,"  Weatherbee  replied  quickly. 

"Then  how  do  you  know  she  wouldn't  like 
to  have  you  come  dressed  as  you  are?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Then  why  don't  you  go  and  find  out?" 

"Because  she  might  feel  offended." 

"At  your  appearance?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  are  not  positive." 

"Not  absolutely." 

"John,  in  my  eyes  you  are  doing  this  girl  an 
injustice." 

"How?" 

"Perhaps  I  can  explain  it  more  fully  by  re- 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR          71 

versing  the  situation,"  and  Weatherbee  placed 
his  hat  on  the  bench  and  listened  attentively. 

"Imagine  you  have  read  a  poem  written  by  a 
lady  whom  you  have  never  met — your  club  or 
your  society  invite  her  to  a  luncheon.  She 
accepts  the  invitation — she  appears  in  a  dress 
that  isn't  in  style;  it  is  a  little  worn — we'll  say 
it  is  quite  shabby.  You  or  any  club  or  society 
that  you  would  be  a  member  of  wouldn't  be 
offended,  would  you?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"You  would  be  a  lot  of  cads  if  you  took 
offence  at  the  girl's  dress,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Certainly." 

"Well,  then,  if  this  girl,  or  her  club  or  society 
invites  you  to  their  luncheon  and  takes  offence 
at  your  clothes,  they're  what  we  would  call 
snobs,  aren't  they?" 

"I  think  in  a  general  conversation  they 
might  be  referred  to  as  such,"  Weatherbee  re- 
marked in  an  unsatisfied  tone  and  reached  for 
his  hat,  placed  it  on  his  head  and  pulled  it  well 
down  over  his  eyes. 

"But  it  is  hardly  fair,"  Warner  continued 
slowly  and  deliberately,  "to  accuse  them  of  be- 


72          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

ing  snobs  without  giving  them  a  chance  to 
prove  it,  is  it?" 

Weatherbee  gave  Warner  a  smiling  glance 
from  the  corner  of  his  eyes  and  acknowledged 
he  was  right. 

"So  far  so  good,"  Warner  went  on.  "Did 
Miss  Kent  impress  you  as  being  a  girl  who 
would  take  offence  at  a  man  she  admired  (we'll 
say  from  a  literary  standpoint)  that  circum- 
stances had  dressed  in  an  old  suit  of  clothes?" 

"No,  she  did  not." 

Warner  sat  in  silence  waiting  for  Weather- 
bee  to  continue,  but  he  was  gazing  at  a  pale 
blue  cloud  that  was  journeying  on  its  way 
across  the  sun,  and  there  were  two  large  brown 
eyes  looking  down  through  the  pale  blue  cloud 
which  caused  the  sun  and  the  cloud  to  fade  into 
nothing  but  a  mere  background. 

After  Warner  had  waited  some  time,  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  Weatherbee  was  in 
one  of  his  listening  moods  and  it  was  up  to 
him  to  do  the  talking. 

"John,  there  is  an  acquaintance,  doubtless  a 
friendship,  and  perhaps  something  deeper  and 
sweeter,  knocking  at  your  door — and  because 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          73 

you  haven't  a  nice  suit  of  clothes,  you  refuse  to 
open  the  door  and  let  it  in.  The  same  knock 
may  never  come  again,  John." 

The  pale  blue  cloud  had  crossed  over  the  sun 
and  Weatherbee  focussed  his  vacant  stare  on 
the  earth's  green  grassy  carpet  and  the  two 
large  brown  eyes  had  also  shifted  and  were 
gazing  up  at  him  through  the  soft  green 
threads. 

"In  reversing  this  situation,  John,  do  I  make 
it  clear  to  you  that  you  are  wrong?" 

"You  haven't  yet,  Warner,"  and  he  smiled 
faintly  at  the  gentle,  fatherly  way  in  which 
Warner  was  chastising  him. 

"If  the  situation  were  reversed,  Warner,  do 
you  think  Miss  Kent  would  accept  the  invi- 
tation?" 

"I'm  sure  she  would." 

"Why  are  you  sure?" 

"From  what  she  has  already  done.  You  de- 
clined their  invitation,  then  she  called  on  you 
and  urged  you  to  accept.  Is  there  anything 
else  she  can  do?  Do  you  think  a  girl  with  a 
poetic  mind  who  is  courageous  enough  to  go 
to  a  man  and  tell  him  that  she  admires  his 


74          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

work,  is  going  to  take  offence  or  even  notice  a 
shabby  suit  of  clothes?" 

"I'm  sorry  I  didn't  have  the  pluck  to  tell 
her  who  I  was,"  Weatherbee  grunted  in  a  dis- 
gusted tone  as  he  removed  his  hat  that  he  had 
unconsciously  been  pulling  at  until  it  almost 
covered  his  eyebrows. 

"You  go  around  and  get  Jack  and  I'll  go 
home  and  start  the  dinner." 

"It  isn't  dinner  time,  is  it,  John?" 

"It  will  be  by  the  time  you  get  there,"  he  said 
and  he  peeped  up  at  the  sun,  which  was  crawl- 
ing down  over  the  roofs  and  seemed  to  be  tuck- 
ing itself  away  in  the  Jersey  foliage. 

When  Jack  and  Warner  entered  the  little 
garret  room,  they  found  dinner  waiting  and 
after  Jack  had  surveyed  the  table  carefully,  he 
placed  both  hands  on  his  little  round  stomach 
and  exclaimed  with  a  great  deal  of  discomfort 
that  he  couldn't  eat  any  dinner  because  he  was 
too  full  of  cocoanut  cake  and  lemonade. 

"I  had  three  glasses  of  lemonade  and  four 
pieces  of  cocoanut  cake,"  he  groaned,  then 
seated  himself  in  the  little  rocker. 

"Did  you  only  eat  four  pieces?"  Weatherbee 
inquired  with  a  forced  sincerity  that  made  Jack 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR          75 

think  he  had  committed  a  great  wrong  and  he 
jumped  to  his  feet  and  replied  in  a  most  apolo- 
getic way  that  he  just  couldn't  eat  any  more. 

"But  I  brought  all  I  couldn't  eat  home  for 
you  and  Mr.  Warner." 

"And  didn't  you  bring  home  any  lemonade?" 

"No,  I  drank  it  all,"  he  said  in  an  injured 
tone  as  he  took  his  father's  hand  in  both  of  his. 

"We  don't  like  lemonade  anyway,  do  we, 
Warner?"  and  he  gave  one  of  the  child's  curls 
an  affectionate  pull. 

"You  cut  the  cake  for  Mr.  Warner  and  me." 

Jack  served  the  cocoanut  cake,  and  nothing 
in  the  Weatherbee  household  tasted  so  good 
that  night. 

When  Warner  bade  Weatherbee  good-night 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  he  held  his  hand  firmly 
and  whispered:  "John,  I'll  bet  I'm  right  about 
that  girl,  a  new  suit  of  clothes  might  grate  on 
her." 

As  Jack  lay  in  the  old  couch  bed  and  watched 
his  father  climb  in,  he  reminded  him  that  he 
had  forgotten  to  blow  out  the  candle. 

"You  are  forgetting  everything  tonight, 
Dad — you  haven't  pulled  down  the  window 
curtain." 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHILE  Weatherbee  and  Warner  were  sit- 
ting in  the  Square,  figuring  out  their  financial 
situation,  Wartle  was  trying  to  plan  the 
easiest  and  less  painful  way  to  remove  his 
little  round  face  from  between  the  two  side- 
whiskers  that  had  been  hanging  on  his  cheeks 
for  so  many  years.  He  knew  it  was  going  to  be 
a  painful  operation  for  he  was  not  very  handy 
with  his  razor  and  he  was  quite  nervous  at  the 
thought  of  shaving  himself  anyway  and  his 
hand  was  very  unsteady — but  to  pay  fifteen 
cents  to  a  barber  was  entirely  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  that  would  be  a  form  of  extravagance  for 
which  he  would  never  forgive  himself,  so  he 
placed  a  small  mirror  on  the  window,  sat  before 
it  and  twirled  the  belov'ed  whiskers  around  his 
fingers  for  many  minutes. 

"Hit's  hall  foolishness,"  he  mumbled  to  him- 
self as  he  ran  his  fingers  through  them  and 
pushed  them  back  until  they  almost  covered  his 
ears.  But  Mrs.  Murray's  word  was  law.  She 

76 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          77 

had  ordered  them  off  and  off  they  had  to  come, 
and  off  they  came  in  sections. 

He  attacked  them  first  with  a  pair  of  dull 
scissors,  and  then  with  a  razor  that  hadn't  been 
near  a  hair  for  so  long  that  it  studdered  when 
it  saw  one. 

After  he  had  succeeded  in  stopping  the  many 
nicks  and  cuts  in  his  face  from  bleeding,  he 
covered  each  cut  and  small  scratch  with  a  liber- 
al amount  of  white  sticking  plaster  and  after  a 
long  disgusted  look  at  himself  in  the  glass, 
shook  his  head  and  gasped :  "Hi  looks  like  'ell." 

His  feeble,  frightened  knock  on  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray's door  wasn't  heard  until  he  had  repeated 
it  several  times. 

"Merciful  Hivins,"  she  exclaimed  as  she 
threw  up  both  hands  and  stepped  back  from  the 
door.  "Have  ye  bin  into  a  dog  foight?" 

Wartle  removed  the  old-fashioned  moth- 
eaten  silk  hat  that  had  sheltered  the  missing 
whiskers  for  so  many  years  and  placed  it  on 
the  table. 

"Ere  Hi  ham  just  has  you  hordered  me." 

"Faith  an'  Oi  didn't  oder  ye  with  yer  face  all 
covered  with  whoite  labels,  did  Oi?" 


78          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Hit's  stickin'  plaster,"  he  returned  meekly. 

"Ye  look  as  if  ye  had  been  run  over  by  some- 
thin' — did  ye  try  to  commit  suwecoid?" 

"No,  Hi  was  just  hexcited,  that's  hall.  Don't 
you  want  to  go  to  the  hopera  with  me?" 

"Sure,  Oi'll  go  anny  place  with  ye — no  wan'll 
see  me,  iverybody'll  be  lookin'  at  ye." 

"Hi  looks  hawful,  don't  Hi?" 

"Ye  do,  ye  look  as  if  ye  had  been  through  the 
battle  of  Bull  Run.  Go  ter  the  glass  there  and 
fix  yerself — some  of  yer  labels  are  comin'  off." 

"Hi  guess  the  sticking  plaster  his  no  good; 
hit's  some  ha  peddler  give  me  for  some  break- 
fast one  morning,"  and  he  tried  hard  to  make 
the  curling  corners  stick  to  his  face,  but  found 
it  impossible. 

"Shtop  pushin'  on  ye  face,  ye'll  have  it  all 
pushed  out  of  shape.  Faith  and  ye  look  as  if  ye 
had  yer  face  done  up  in  curlin'  papers.  Have 
ye  the  tickets?" 

"Yes,  Hi  got  them  hin  the  front  row." 

"Oi'm  glad  of  that,  fer  Oi  loiks  to  watch  the 
drummer.  Come  on  or  we'll  be  late." 

"  'Ave  you  hever  seen  the  hopera  of  'Why 
Women  Sin'?"  inquired  Wartle  as  he  gazed  at 
the  program. 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR          79 

"No,  but  Oi  knows  it's  good,  fer  they  always 
have  foine  operas  here  at  the  Third  Avenue 
Theatre.  The  usher'll  be  after  ye  if  ye  don't 
take  yer  lid  off." 

Wartle  removed  the  silk  hat  that  had  fur- 
nished amusement  for  those  near  enough  to 
see  the  moth-eaten  spots,  and  placed  it  under 
the  seat. 

"Now,  don't  talk  to  me,"  Mrs.  Murray 
ordered  as  the  curtain  arose. 

"She's  lame,  hisn't  she?"  he  whispered  after 
the  heroine  had  been  on  the  stage  a  few 
seconds. 

"Shut  up,"  Mrs.  Murray  replied  in  a  voice 
that  was  heard  by  everyone  in  the  theatre. 

"She's  supposed  to  be  lame — didn't  ye  hear 
her  say  that  she  was  pushed  out  of  the  villain's 
airship?" 

"But  she's  dressed  in  ha  hevening  dress." 

"She  didn't  'ave  this  dress  on  when  he 
pushed  'er  out.  Shut  up  now." 

"Hi  can't  hunderstand  hit,"  Wartle  grunted 
after  the  curtain  had  fallen  on  the  first  act. 

"It's  as  plain  as  the  stickin'  plaster  on  yer 
face.  The  limpy  woman  is  the  villain's  wife 


80          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

and  he  is  troyin'  to  kill  her  off  so  he  can  marry 
his  young  toipwriter — that's  what  he  pushed 
her  out  of  the  airship  fer. 

"Stop  pickin'  yer  face — it's  bleedin',"  and  she 
pulled  Wartle's  hand  away  from  his  chin  and 
warned  him  to  keep  quiet  as  the  curtain  arose 
on  the  second  act. 

"Hif  'e  poisons  'is  wife,"  Wartle  whispered, 
"  'e  can't  marry  'is  typewriter  'cause  'e'll  be 
'anged." 

"Don't  ye  see  that  he's  goin'  to  poison  her 
and  blame  it  on  the  hero?" 

"But  'e  didn't  put  hanything  in  the  glass." 

"But  he  made  believe  put  somethin'  in  it — 
there — there — she's  goin'  to  drink  it.  No — she 
says  she  isn't  thirsty — thank  God !  thank  God !" 
and  Mrs.  Murray  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and 
sat  back  in  her  seat  as  the  curtain  fell. 

"The  Divil  will  kill  her  yit.  "Hain't  she  got 
the  foine  'ead  of  'air?  It's  just  exactly  the 
color  hof  gold — She's  hawfully  fat,  though, 
hisn'tshe?" 

"Oi  think  she's  beautiful,"  Mrs.  Murray  ex- 
claimed, clasping  her  hands  together  in  ad- 
miration. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          81 

"She  has  two  lovely  gold  teeth  roight  in  the 
front  of  her  mouth,  and  doiamonds  in  her  ears 
an'  on  ivery  finger." 

"She's  got  some  hon  'er  thumbs  too,  hand 
haround  'er  neck." 

"Yis,  and  doiamond  buckles  on  her  slippers." 

"She  'as  hawfully  big  feet." 

"Well,  she's  a  strappin'  big  woman — Oi'll  bet 
she  weighs  over  two  hundred  pounds.  Oi  wish 
Oi  had  some  of  the  fat  that  she  don't  need." 

"Hi  wouldn't  'ave  you  has  fat  has  'er  fer 
hanything  hin  the  world.  Hi  don't  see  'ow  'er 
'usband  hever  pushed  'er  hout  of  the  hairship 
—she  his  two  times  has  big  has  'e  his,  hand 
when  'e  went  to  choke  'er  'e  'ad  to  stand  hon  'is 
tip  toes  to  reach  'er  neck.  'E  doesn't  look  ha 
bit  well,  'is  voice  his  so  weak.  When  she  said 
to  'im  'Ho,  for  God's  sake  pity  me,  Dalmore,' 
Hi  couldn't  'ear  what  'e  said  hat  hall." 

"Sure,  an'  he  is  supposed  to  be  nothin'  but  a 
wee  shrimp — keep  quiet  now,  here  she  is." 

"She  his  much  holder  than  'e  his,  hain't 
she?" 

"He  is  her  second  husband — ain't  ye  listenin' 
to  what  they're  sayin'?" 


82          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Hit's  mean  hof  'er  to  want  'im  to  discharge 
the  typewriter,  hisn't  it?" 

"No,  she  knows  he  is  stuck  on  her." 

"But  she  hain't  stuck  on  'im;  she's  hin  love 
with  the  Doctor — Dick  Darow." 

"Shut  up,  he's  goin'  to  give  her  the  poisoned 
box  of  bonbons ;  see !  see !  she's  takin'  them,  the 
fool,  and  she's  thankin'  him  for  'em.  The  brute, 
he's  goin'  away  and  1'ave  her  there  to  ate  'em- 
she's  undoin'  the  box — hush,  here's  the  toip- 
writer — the  little  fool  is  asking  her  fer  some 
and  she's  atin'  'ern.  Look!  look  at  her  eyes! 
See !  see !  there  she  goes,  she's  fallin'  on  the 
buffalo  robe.  Bless  her  heart,  the  big  fat  one 
is  telephonin'  fer  the  doctor." 

"How  many  more  hacts  hare  there?" 

"One — it's  dridful  excitin',  ain't  it?  I 
thought  I'd  scream  roight  out  when  the  toip- 
writer  et  the  poisoned  bonbon." 

"She  didn't  heat  hit,  there  wasn't  hanything 
hin  the  box." 

"Ye  dough-head,  this  is  only  a  opera.  She 
made  believe  ate  it,  didn't  she?  Wake  up!" 

"Hi'm  so  sleepy  Hi  can't  keep  my  heyes 
hopen." 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR          83 

"Faith  and  Oi'll  not  sleep  fer  a  week  after 
watchin'  this." 

"The  Doctor  his  hawfully  young  to  be  ha 
doctor,  hisn't  'e?" 

"Sure  and  the  hero  has  to  be  young — Oi 
think  he's  foine,  he  has  such  nice  long,  curly 
hair." 

"Hi  likes  'im  better  than  Hi  do  the  type- 
writer— she  talks  through  'er  nose  so." 

"L'ave  that  stickin'  plaster  alone — sure  yer 
face'll  niver  git  well  if  ye  kape  pickin'  at  it." 

'  'Ow  many  more  hacts  did  you  say  there 
was?" 

"One,  they're  gittin'  ready  for  it  now — the 
loights  are  goin'  out.  I'll  bet  if  Oi  had  that 
young  brat  by  the  neck,  he  wouldn't  whistle  up 
in  that  gallery  ag'in  fer  awhoile. 

"There's  the  poor  little  toipwriter  in  bed— 
moy,  but  she's  as  pale  as  a  sheet — and  see  the 
young  doctor's  over  there  in  the  corner  exam- 
inin'  the  bon-bons  wid  a  spy  glass — and  God 
love,  the  big  fat  blond  is  bringin'  in  the  little 
sick  toipwriter  clam  soup." 

"What  his  that  glass  rod  the  Doctor  his 
puttin'  hin  the  typewriter's  mouth?" 


84          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"It's  a  thermomitor  that  tells  if  her  fever  is 
gittin'  hot  or  cold.  He  sez  she  has  one  chance 
out  of  a  million.  He's  pale,  too,  the  poor  divil. 

"Here's  the  pup  that  poisoned  the  bonbons." 

"His  false  mustache  his  comin'  hofr,  hisn't 
hit?" 

"I  hope  it  does.  Bully  fer  the  fat  one — she 
told  him  to  go,  and  niver  look  her  in  the  face 
ag'in." 

"Yes,  but  'e  says  'e  won't  go." 

"Wait  a  minute,  there's  goin'  to  be  a  scrap — 
the  doctor  is  goin'  to  fire  him  out — there  they 
go — good!  good!  hurray!  fer  the  Doctor.  Do 
ye  hear  that  noise?  That's  the  villain  fallin' 
down  the  stairs." 

"Hit  sounds  like  broken  glass,  doesn't  hit?" 

"Sure,  it's  somethin'  they  use  to  make  a 
noise  loike  a  man  fallin'  down  stairs. 

"The  Doctor  says  the  toipwriter  is  goin'  to 
be  her  own  swate  self  in  a  few  days — see,  he's 
kissin'  her." 

"His  hit  hall  hover?" 

"Yis  and  Oi'd  loike  to  come  ag'in  tomorry 
noight." 

"Hi'll  take  you  'ome  hin  ha  street  car  hif 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR          85 

you're  too  tired  to  walk,"  Wartle  chirruped  as 
if  he  thought  the  generosity  of  his  offer  would 
surprise  Mrs.  Murray. 

"Ye'll  take  me  home  in  nothin'  'till  after  I  go 
to  Sweeney's  'All  Night  Lunch'  and  have 
somethin'  to  ate." 

Wartle  tagged  along  in  silence  until  he 
recovered  from  the  shock  and  then  inquired 
meekly  where  Sweeney's  was. 

"Oi'll  show  ye,"  Mrs.  Murray  replied  in  a 
firm  tone.  "It's  a  foine  place — some  people  say 
that  it's  almost  as  good  as  any  of  Childs' 
places." 

"Hi've  never  been  hin  one  hof  Childs'  places, 
har  they  hexpensive?" 

"Not  very,  Sweeney's  a  foine  man — I  know 
him  well — I  used  to  wash  fer  'em  before  the 
Chinaman  moved  next  door." 

"What  do  you  think  you'll  heat?" 

"I  don't  know  'till  I  see  the  bill-o-fare." 

"Hi'd  like  a  bottle  hof  good  hold  Hinglish 
hale,  but  hit's  so  hexpensive." 

After  Mrs.  Murray  had  listened  to  the  waiter 
read  over  everything  there  was  on  the  menu 
several  times,  she  decided  she  would  try  an 


86          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

oyster  stew.  "An'  ye  can  fetch  me  a  shupper  of 
dark  beer — 

"What  are  ye  goin'  to  ate?" 

"Hi  don't  want  hanything — Hi  never  heat 
hin  the  middle  hof  the  night." 

"Ye  want  a  bottle  of  ale,  don't  ye?" 

"No,  Hi  don't  think  Hi'll  drink  hit,  hit  might 
hupset  me." 

"Drink  it,  sure  ye  can't  be  any  worse  than 
ye  are  now.  Bring  a  bottle  of  Dogs  Head — it's 
good  for  what  ales  him." 

After  Wartle  drank  his  bottle  of  ale,  things 
on  the  menu  began  to  look  cheaper  and  Mrs. 
Murray  smiled  when  he  ordered  the  second 
bottle — and  was  somewhat  astonished  when  he 
ordered  the  third,  and  she  cancelled  the  order 
for  the  fourth. 

"Ye'll  drink  no  more,  sure  ye're  blink-eyed 
now.  Give  'im  his  hat,  waiter." 

"Hi  hay — hay — hain't  'ad  ha  bo'le  hale  hin 
two  years." 

"Faith,  an'  ye  have  enough  now  to  do  fer 
two  years  more — come  out  of  there,  that's  the 
kitchen." 

"Do  you  want  a  cab,  Mrs.  Murray?"  the 
waiter  asked. 


"Hi  hay — hay — hain't  'ad  bole  hale  kin  two  years 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR          87 

"No,  sure  he  needs  the  walk — he'll  be  all 
roight  whin  he  gits  outsoide." 

"This  'as  been  ha  lovely  hevening,"  he  mum- 
bled as  they  stopped  at  Mrs.  Murray's  steps— 
and  when  he  bent  over  to  kiss  her  hand,  the 
moth-eaten  hat  fell  off  and  rolled  out  onto  the 
pavement,  and  to  make  sure  that  it  would  not 
fall  off  again  until  he  reached  home,  Mrs  Mur- 
ray pulled  it  well  down  on  the  back  of  his  head 
until  it  rested  on  both  ears. 

"Ye're  all  roight  now,  ain't  ye?  Ye  know 
where  ye  are,  don't  ye?" 

"Sure,  Hi'm  hin  'Eaven."  He  chuckled  as  he 
waddled  up  the  street,  waving  his  chubby  hand 
back  over  his  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  silk  shades  in  the  large  drawing-room 
windows  of  the  Kent  mansion,  which  looked 
out  on  Fifth  Avenue,  were  drawn,  and  the  ele- 
gantly furnished  room  was  delicately  lighted 
with  a  large  chandelier  whose  small  electric 
bulbs  were  hidden  under  the  soft  sun-colored 
globes,  that  matched  the  golden  tinted  damask 
which  covered  the  walls  and  gave  the  large 
room  a  glow  of  peaceful  summer  sunset.  Rosa- 
mond sat  in  a  large  silk  upholstered  chair  read- 
ing a  book  whose  hero  reminded  so  much  of 
the  man  she  thought  was  Mr.  Weatherbee's 
secretary.  The  big  sliding  doors  of  the  adjoin- 
ing dining-room  that  looked  out  into  the  con- 
servatory were  open,  and  the  servants  had 
finished  arranging  the  table  for  the  elaborate 
luncheon  for  the  man  they  little  dreamed  was 
sauntering  along  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  locating  the  house  from  the  corner  of 
his  eye — wondering  if  he  would  have  the  cour- 
age to  enter  when  the  time  came. 

"I  think  the  table  is  as  you  wish  it,  Ma'am," 

88 


THE   GUEST   OK   HONOR          89 

the  servant  remarked  politely,  and  after  he  had 
repeated  the  words  the  second  time  and  waited 
for  a  reply,  he  stepped  in  front  of  Miss  Kent 
and  forced  a  low  cough  that  gained  her  at- 
tention. 

"I  say,  I  think  the  table  is  as  you  wish  it, 
Ma'am." 

After  she  had  glanced  over  the  table  care- 
fully, she  inquired  how  many  brands  of  cigars 
were  at  the  "Guest  of  Honor's"  plate,  and  the 
servant  smiled  when  he  informed  her  that  he 
had  obeyed  her  orders  and  bought  two  of  every 
good  brand  he  could  think  of. 

"You  may  close  the  doors,  if  you  will, 
Henry."  She  resumed  her  seat  in  the  large 
plush  chair  and  wandered  off  among  the  pages 
of  her  book. 

After  Helen  had  entered  the  room  and  re- 
mained silent  for  almost  a  minute,  which  was 
an  exceedingly  long  time  for  her,  she  inquired 
of  her  father's  whereabouts  in  a  voice  that  was 
somewhat  suppressed  with  fear  and  didn't  dis- 
play any  great  desire  to  be  informed  that  he 
was  within  a  hearing  distance  and  when  she 
learned,  through  Rosamond's  half-unconscious 


90          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

reply,  that  he  was  up  in  his  room,  she  spoke  in 
a  natural  tone,  which  usually  brought  a  reply. 

"He  is  always  home  when  the  club  meets 
here  and  it  makes  him  wild." 

After  she  had  given  Rosamond  sufficient 
time  to  reply  and  decided  that  her  presence  was 
not  as  important  as  the  book,  she  seated  her- 
self on  the  arm  of  her  sister's  chair  and  peeked 
over  her  shoulder  long  enough  to  become  inter- 
ested in  the  title. 

"What  are  you  reading?" 

"  'An  Author's  Life,'  and  the  character  of  the 
author  reminds  me  so  much  of  Mr.  Weather- 
bee's  secretary." 

"Is  it  good  for  anything?" 

"Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  story  and  the  character 
of  the  author  is  so  quaint  and  witty.  I  love 
those  droll,  witty  types." 

"You  are  always  admiring  some  freak.  I 
wonder  if  Mr.  Weatherbee  will  come?" 

Rosamond's  eyes  wandered  from  the  book 
as  she  unconsciously  lowered  it  to  the  arm  of 
the  chair. 

"He  said  he  would  in  his  note.  What  time  is 
mother  coming?" 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR          91 

"She  'phoned  that  she  was  on  her  way  over. 
I  can't  wait  until  she  comes." 

"Why,  you  big  baby,  she  has  only  been  away 
one  night." 

;'Oh,  it  isn't  that,  but  I  want  to  tell  her  about 
us  rinding  Marguerite's  picture  in  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee's  studio.  Isn't  that  the  strangest  thing 
you  ever  heard  of?"  and  even  Helen's  fluttering 
mind  rested  on  the  strange  coincidence  long- 
enough  to  remain  silent  for  some  few  seconds. 

The  sound  of  their  mother's  voice  greeting 
the  servant  in  the  reception  hall  brought  the 
two  girls  to  their  feet. 

"Here  is  mamma  now,"  and  Helen  was  the 
first  to  be  folded  in  her  mother's  arms,  though 
Rosamond's  slight  figure  was  held  tightly  in 
the  same  two  arms  for  many  seconds  after  and 
one  might  have  thought  from  the  affectionate 
greeting,  that  the  mother  had  been  absent  for 
many  weeks  instead  of  but  one  night  and  only 
a  few  squares  away  in  the  same  city. 

"What  is  the  trouble  with  father?" 

"Nothing  much,  I  guess  he  just  wanted  a  day 
off.  How  is  Grandma?" 

"In  perfect  health,"  and  Mrs.  Kent's  voice 


92          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

simply  bubbled  with  affectionate  enthusiasm. 
"Why,  she  is  just  the  healthiest  old  dear  you 
ever  saw.  How  is  your  luncheon  coming  on, 
Rosamond?" 

"All  right  so  far." 

"Going  to  invite  me?"  Mrs.  Kent  asked  with 
an  inquiring  smile. 

"I  wish  I  could." 

"Who  is  the  guest  of  honor  today?" 

"Mr.  Weatherbee,  the  gentleman  who  wrote 
the  beautiful  poem  I  recited  at  the  entertain- 
ment." 

"Oh!  is  he  coming?" 

"He  promised  to." 

"Rosamond  hasn't  seen  him  yet  and  she's  in 
love  with  him." 

"Helen,  please  don't  be  so  smart." 

"What  does  he  look  like?"  asked  Mrs.  Kent 
in  a  tone  of  girlish  curiosity. 

"We  haven't  seen  him,"  Helen  whispered 
mysteriously,  "but  his  secretary  described  him. 
He  is  tall  and  has  light  hair,  so  that  settles  it." 

Mrs.  Kent  bent  forward  in  her  chair  and  imi- 
tated Helen's  mysterious  whispering  tone. 
"Where  did  you  see  his  secretary?" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR         93 

"At  Mr.  Weatherbee's  studio,"  Helen  re- 
turned, opening  her  eyes  wide  and  lowering 
her  voice  as  if  she  were  telling  a  child  a 
ghost  story  and  a  gentle  note  of  surprise  crept 
into  her  mother's  voice  as  she  spoke  after  a 
short  pause. 

"Did  you  go  to  his  studio?" 

"Yes,  the  club  asked  me  to,"  Rosamond 
answered  in  an  unsteady,  puzzled  tone,  which 
changed  the  atmosphere  of  humor  that  Helen 
had  created  to  one  of  mild  excitement.  "I  could 
hardly  wait  until  you  came  home  to  tell  you  of 
what  we  found  there,"  and  her  lips  twitched 
with  nervousness  as  she  paused  and  looked  in- 
to her  mother's  wondering  eyes,  for  she  knew 
she  was  not  prepared  for  the  mysterious  news 
she  held  in  store  for  her. 

"What  is  it?"  Mrs.  Kent  asked  in  a  gentle, 
firm  tone  as  she  took  Rosamond's  hand  and 
looked  at  her  with  a  smile  of  love  that  would 
make  a  bitter  confession  seem  like  child  verse. 
When  Rosamond  informed  her  that  it  was 
a  photograph  of  Marguerite  they  had  found 
she  stepped  back  and  her  eyes  journeyed  from 


94          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

one  girl  to  the  other  several  times  before  she 
spoke. 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  Marguerite?" 

"Positive." 

"I  saw  it  first!"  Helen  exclaimed,  and  her 
unconscious  pride  displayed  the  absence  of  any 
deep  interest  in  the  subject,  and  she  was  some- 
what grieved  when  her  remark  was  passed  un- 
noticed. 

"Did  you  find  out  where  she  is?" 

"No,  Mr.  Weatherbee  was  not  in — we  saw 
his  secretary — but  I  didn't  want  to  converse 
with  him  on  the  subject.  I  thought  it  better  to 
wait  until  I  saw  Mr.  Weatherbee  himself." 

"Was  it  an  old  photograph?" 

"One  of  those  she  had  taken  just  before  she 
was  married." 

"I  was  at  boarding  school  when  Marguerite 
was  married,  wasn't  I?"  Helen  inquired  in  a 
more  thoughtful,  reminiscent  tone  than  she 
had  ever  been  known  to  speak  in  before. 

"Yes,  you  were  only  eleven  years  old  then, 
my  dear,"  and  Mrs.  Kent  sighed,  her  mind 
back  through  the  eight  years  which  had  turned 
her  hair  from  soft  brown  to  a  silvery  white. 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR          95 

Helen  sat  in  one  of  the  large  chairs  and 
wrinkled  her  little  white  forehead  in  deep 
thought  for  several  minutes.  She  knew  her 
mother  and  sister  were  not  aware  of  the  infor- 
mation she  had  gained  regarding  Marguerite's 
husband  and  while  she  wasn't  proud  of  the 
method  she  used  to  enlighten  herself  on  the 
subject,  she  was  not  at  all  ashamed. 

"Is  Marguerite's  husband  still  in  prison?" 
she  asked  quietly  and  deliberately,  then  gazed 
somewhat  reproachfully  at  her  mother  and 
Rosamond,  who  were  so  shocked  by  the  ques- 
tion that  they  sat  speechless  for  many  seconds. 

"Why,  Helen!"  Mrs.  Kent  gasped;  "who 
said  he  was  in  prison?" 

"Rosamond." 

"Why,  Helen !" 

"I  heard  you  and  mother  talking  about  it." 

"When?" 

"Oh,  a  long  time  ago." 

"You  listened?" 

"Certainly  I  listened,"  she  remarked  calmly. 
"You  or  mamma  never  tell  me  anything,  so  I 
have  to  listen." 

The  forced  note  of  gentle  reproach  in  Mis. 


96          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Kent's  voice  failed  to  conceal  her  great  love 
which  she  unconsciously  showed  in  spite  of  her 
attempt  to  be  severe. 

"Helen,  I  am  ashamed  of  you!" 

"Well,  I  don't  care  if  you  are,  I'm  tired  of 
being  the  baby  in  this  house.  You  and  Rosa- 
mond have  more  secrets  and  when  I  come  into 
the  room,  you  both  cough  and  start  talking 
about  the  weather.  You  never  tell  me  any- 
thing." 

"Because  you  can't  keep  anything  to  your- 
self, my  dear,  that  is  why  we  never  tell  you  any- 
thing, and  you're  old  enough  to  know  better. 
I  have  often  felt  it  my  duty  to  tell  you  about 
Marguerite,  but  didn't  because  I  was  afraid  of 
you  repeating  it." 

"Well,  I  should  know.  She  is  my  sister  and 
it  is  your  duty  to  tell  me.  I  know  that  she  ran 
away  and  married  against  father's  wish  and  by 
listening  I  learned  that  her  husband  is  in 
prison.  I  would  rather  have  you  tell  me  the 
particulars  than  hear  it  from  some  stranger." 

"Helen,  do  you  wish  to  speak  in  that  tone  of 
voice  to  me,"  her  mother  asked  quietly,  "or  are 
you  forgetting?" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          97 

"I'm  forgetting,"  she  replied  regretfully, 
after  a  brief  silence,  as  she  knelt  at  her 
mother's  side  and  squeezed  her  hand  affection- 
ately. "What  is  he  in  prison  for?" 

"Before  they  were  married  he  forged  your 
father's  name  on  a  check,  but  father  spared  him 
to  save  a  scandal.  We  both  begged 
Marguerite  not  to  marry  him.  Then  father 
forbade  her  and  she  ran  away  and  married  in 
spite  of  anything  we  could  say  or  do.  Shortly 
after  they  were  married  he  committed  another 
forgery  and  was  sent  to  prison  and  died  there." 

"Haven't  you  ever  heard  from  her  since?" 

And  her  lips  trembled  as  she  tried  to  utter  a 
"No"  that  was  smothered  with  heavy  sobs. 
"Oh,  if  she  only  knew  what  I  have  suffered  she 
would  surely  write  to  me,"  and  her  head  fell  to 
her  hands  and  shook  with  bitter  grief. 

Rosamond  smoothed  her  white  hair  tenderly 
and  drew  her  head  affectionately  to  her  breast, 
though  her  own  eyes  were  moistened  with 
tears  and  her  voice  broke  with  emotion  when 
she  spoke. 

"It  is  not  because  Marguerite  is  cruel, 
mother,  that  she  doesn't  write.  If  she  were 


98          THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

starving  her  pride  would  not  permit  her  to  ask 
for  food  or  tell  of  her  sufferings." 

"And  I'm  afraid  she  is  suffering — I  feel  sure 
of  it." 

"Something  tells  me  she  isn't.  She  looked 
so  happy  in  her  photograph — so  peaceful.  She 
looked  as  she  did  the  last  time  I  saw  her — she 
seemed  to  speak  to  me,  and  something  tells  me 
that  we  are  going  to  find  her — and  she  is  com- 
ing home." 

Mrs.  Kent  raised  her  head  slowly  and  with  a 
feeble,  hopeful  smile  whispered  the  words  half 
to  herself :  "Coming  home!" 

"I  feel  sure  of  it,"  Rosamond  continued.  "I 
don't  know  why,  but  I  do.  It  all  seems  so 
strange  that  I  should  be  sent  to  call  on  this  man 
whom  we  have  never  met  and  find  her  photo- 
graph there.  It  seems  like  a  good  omen,  and  I 
am  positive  we  are  going  to  find  her."  And  a 
sign  of  hope  crept  into  the  three  sad  faces  as 
Mrs.  Kent  took  each  of  the  girls'  hands  and 
crowded  a  smile  through  her  tears  and  forced  a 
cheerful  note  into  her  voice.  "We'll  hop^ — 
and  trust — and  pray." 

The  click  of  the  heavy  oak  library  door  sent 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR          99 

a  warning  glance  from  each  to  the  other  and 
they  dried  their  eyes  quickly  and  sat  in  differ- 
ent chairs. 

"Are  you  going  to  teH  father?"  Helen 
whispered. 

"No,"  Mrs.  Kent  replied  in  a  still  lower 
whisper,  mechanically  clearing  her  throat 
and  trying  to  manufacture  a  conversation  re- 
garding the  luncheon  while  she  fussed  nervous- 
ly with  her  small  lace  handkerchief. 

"Dick"  Kent,  as  he  was  commonly  called  by 
members  of  the  stock  exchange,  strolled 
leisurely  from  his  library.  His  hands  were 
pushed  deep  into  the  pockets  of  his  dark  trous- 
ers and  the  end  of  a  long  black  cigar,  which 
protruded  from  the  lengthy  gold-trimmed 
amber  cigar  holder  that  he  held  between  his 
two  heavy,  clean  shaven  lips,  scarcely  extend- 
ed as  far  forward  as  his  stomach.  What  white 
hair  there  was  left,  on  the  sides  and  back  of  his 
head,  stood  straight  on  its  end,  which  was 
caused  by  the  many  visits  from  his  nervous 
fingers.  His  deep,  harsh  voice,  which  would 
bluff  any  New  York  cab  horse  into  stepping 
lively,  was  understood,  though  not  always  ad- 
mired by  his  family. 


"Hello,  you've  been  crying!"  was  his  greet- 
ing to  Mrs.  Kent  when  he  entered  the  drawing 
room  and  removed  the  cigar  from  his  lips  long 
enough  to  kiss  her  on  the  cheek.  "What's  the 
trouble?"  and  Mrs.  Kent  murmured  a  faint 
"Nothing"  as  he  stood  before  her  waiting  for 
an  explanation. 

"Yes,  there  is!"  and  he  raised  his  voice  to  a 
key  that  would  have  frightened  a  stranger. 

"She  cried  when  we  told  her  you  were  too 
ill  to  go  to  your  office,"  Helen  exclaimed  in  a 
tone  of  mock  sympathy,  then  hurried  to  her 
mother's  side  and  held  her  hand  and  patted  it 
tenderly. 

Kent  threw  his  head  back  and  grunted  a  con- 
ceited laugh,  which  told  his  pride  had  been 
touched.  "Oh,  there's  nothing  the  matter 
with  me — a  little  cold,  that's  all,"  and  he 
started  for  the  library  and  addressed  Rosa- 
mond without  turning. 

"What  time  are  the  celebrities  coming?" 

"At  two." 

"Is  Miss  Butterwing  coming?"  he  asked  with 
a  touch  of  sarcastic  humor. 

"I  think  so." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        101 

"Let  me  know  when  she  arrives,  will  vou?" 

"Why?" 

"I  want  to  go  up  to  my  room." 

His  wit  was  responded  to  by  the  "family 
laugh"  that  was  always  pitched  in  the  same 
key — delivered  in  the  same  tempo  and  never 
consisted  of  more  than  three  ha  ha's. 

Though  Helen  had  often  doubled  her  weekly 
allowance  by  tucking  on  a  few  extra  ha  ha's  at 
one  of  his  pet  jokes,  "She  won't  bother  you  to- 
day," she  said  with  a  great  deal  of  assurance. 
"She'll  be  after  Mr.  Weatherbee." 

Kent  paused  and  spoke  without  turning, 
after  he  had  delivered  a  few  heavy  clouds  of 
smoke  from  his  cigar.  "Who  is  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee?" 

"Mr.  Weatherbee  is  the  Guest  of  Honor  to- 
day," Rosamond  answered,  and  her  uncon- 
scious enthusiasm  only  made  Mr.  Kent  more 
curious. 

"Who  is  he?"  he  asked  sharply  without 
removing  the  cigar  from  his  lips. 

"An  author,"  was  Rosamond's  timid  reply. 

"Of  what?"   Kent  grunted. 

"I  have  only  read  two  of  his  poems  that  he 


102        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

gave  to  the  Society — I  have  never  met  him." 

Kent  jerked  the  cigar  from  his  lips,  and 
waiked  toward  Rosamond,  eyeing  her  severely. 
"Never  met  him  and  inviting  him  to  your 
home?" 

"It  is  customary  to  invite  a  strange  author 
as  a  guest  of  honor  to  our  luncheon." 

"Do  any  of  the  ladies  of  your  Club  know 
him?"  When  Rosamond  shook  her  head  and 
whispered  a  positive  "No"  he  stepped  back  in 
utter  surprise  and  was  silent  many  seconds  be- 
fore he  found  words  to  express  his  astonish- 
ment. 

"Rosamond,  I  don't  approve  of  this.  You 
shouldn't  invite  a  person  to  your  home  until 
you  know  something  of  him.  I  wish  your 
society  wouldn't  use  your  home  to  entertain 
men  whom  they  have  never  met.  You  know, 
Rosamond,"  and  he  stepped  forward  and 
placed  his  heavy  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
lowered  his  harsh  voice  until  it  mellowed  into 
a  key  of  rough  sympathy,  "we  were  taught 
one  sad  lesson  by  allowing  a  man  to  call  here 
whom  we  didn't  know." 

"We  think  this  man  is  a  gentleman,"  and  the 


103 

note  of  sincerity  in  her  voice  only  augmented 
his  savage  gruffness — he  gripped  her  shoulder 
and  shook  it  until  she  winced,  though  his 
brutal  clutch  was  meant  for  affection. 

"You  should  be  sure,  my  dear,  you  should  be 
positive."  He  entered  the  library — slammed 
the  heavy  door  and  sank  in  the  massive  leather 
chair  and  tried  to  smoke  away  the  misery  that 
his  many  millions  hadn't  kept  from  entering 
his  palace  door. 


CHAPTER  IX 

KENT'S  advice,  which  was  based  on  the 
facts  that  had  caused  so  many  heart  aches  in 
his  family,  left  the  three  ladies  sitting  with 
bowed  heads  and  their  minds  pondering  over 
the  past  and  each  one  silently  asking  them- 
selves if  he  were  right.  Mrs.  Kent  favored  his 
opinion  to  a  degree,  but  was  undecided  as  to 
what  step  her  husband  would  take  toward  the 
strange  man  if  he  knew  he  possessed  a  photo- 
graph of  their  daughter  and  the  knowledge  of 
her  whereabouts.  One  deep  sigh  followed  the 
other  until  Helen's  sympathy  on  the  subject 
had  become  exhausted  and  she  became  some- 
what impatient  with  herself  and  everyone 
concerned. 

"Oh,  don't  mind  him,"  she  grunted.  "He  has 
a  bad  case  of  indigestion." 

The  unexpected  remark  and  the  pouty,  jerky 
tone  in  which  it  was  delivered,  brought  her 
mother  and  Rosamond  half  way  back  to  earth, 
and  though  neither  spoke,  the  humorous  ex- 
pression of  their  eyes  as  they  glanced  at  the 

104 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        105 

child  explained  their  opinion  of  her  incapa- 
bility to  be  serious  for  more  than  a  minute  at  a 
time,  no  matter  how  fatal  the  subject  might  be. 

The  butler  appeared  at  the  door  and  an- 
nounced Mr.  Thisby.  The  words  had  scarcely 
left  his  lips  before  Helen  exclaimed,  "Show 
him  in  quick!"  and  the  butler  failed  to  conceal 
his  broad  smile  as  he  hurried  away.  Helen's 
boisterous  manner  surprised  her  sister  and 
shocked  her  mother,  but  they  didn't  succeed  in 
hiding-  the  fact  that  they  were  also  amused. 

"What  on  earth  is  he  calling  at  this  hour 
for?"  Rosamond  asked  in  a  voice  that  was 
equally  blended  with  astonishment  and  annoy- 
ance. 

"Because  I  told  him  to." 

"Now  remember,  Helen,  don't  ask  him  to 
stay  to  lunch,"  and  Rosamond  marked  each 
word  with  an  emphatic  nod  of  her  head. 

"Oh,  he  doesn't  want  to  stay,"  Helen 
answered  in  a  voice  of  exaggerated  pride. 

"He'd  stay  if  you  gave  him  half  an  invita- 
tion." 

"You  shouldn't  mind  him,"  Mrs.  Kent  re- 
marked casually.  "I  should  think  you  would 


106        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

be  so  used  to  him  that  you  wouldn't  notice 
him,  and  Mrs.  Thisby  likes  to  have  him  come 
over  here  because  then  she  knows  where  he  is. 
I  don't  mind  him;  he  seems  just  like  a  girl  to 
me." 

When  Rosamond  and  her  mother  left  the 
room,  Helen  seated  herself  and  pretended  to 
read  the  book  Rosamond  had  forgotten, 
though  she  was  gazing  several  inches  above 
the  top  of  the  book  and  listening  attentively 
for  Thisby's  voice,  and  when  he  "ahemmed" 
politely,  she  mechanically  dropped  the  book 
and  exclaimed  in  a  forced  dramatic  tone:  "Oh, 
how  you  frightened  me !" 

"I'm  jolly  well  sorry,  I  thought  you  knew  I 
was  here,  don't  you  know." 

"Well,  I  didn't,  and  I'm  not  aware  of  the 
fact  yet."  She  picked  up  her  book — held  it 
within  a  few  inches  of  her  eyes  and  smiled  be- 
hind its  pages. 

"Really  now,  stop  capering,  don't  you  know. 
Aren't  you  going  for  a  spin  ?" 

"Certainly  not,  you  know  the  Club  is  giving 
a  luncheon  here  today  in  honor  of  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee,"  and  she  turned  several  pages  of  the 
book  over  hurriedlv . 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR        107 

"But  you  don't  care  anything  about  the 
blooming  Club!" 

She  rose  to  her  feet  slowly  and  drew  her 
shoulders  up  until  they  almost  covered  her 
ears,  then  spoke  in  a  whispering  gasp  that 
would  have  frightened  herself  if  she  hadn't  had 
such  a  struggle  to  keep  from  laughing,  "How 
dare  you  call  it  a  blooming  Club?"  and  she 
sank  into  the  chair  with  disgust  and  pretended 
to  read,  but  was  not  aware  that  she  was  hold- 
ing the  book  upside  down. 

"Bless  my  soul,  I'm  only  jesting.  You  said 
yesterday  you  didn't  care  about  remaining  to 
the  luncheon  and  if  I'd  call  you  would  go  for  a 
spin,  don't  you  know." 

"Well,  if  I  did  I  have  changed  my  mind.  I 
wish  to  remain  and  meet  Mr.  Weatherbee," 
and  she  emphasized  Mr.  Weatherbee  with  a 
vengeance  as  she  noticed  she  was  holding  the 
book  upside  down. 

"Oh,  tommyrot,  and  are  you  going  to  remain 
in  the  house  all  the  blooming  afternoon  just  to 
meet  that  blithering  idiot?" 

After  she  had  gazed  at  him  for  several 
seconds  with  a  tragic  expression  of  contempt, 


108        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

she  remarked  quietly,  using  her  shoulders  to 
help  accentuate  her  disgust,  "You  are  positive- 
ly vulgar." 

Though  Thisby  was  aware  that  she  was 
playing  another  one  of  her  dignified  roles,  he 
was  somewhat  puzzled  at  the  quiet  method  she 
had  chosen,  and  a  pleading  note  crept  into  his 
small,  whiny  voice  as  he  advanced  a  few  steps 
toward  her  chair. 

"Well,  he  is;  he's  a  blithering  ass,  upon  my 
soul  he  is,"  and  his  worried,  apologetic  tone 
pleased  her  childish  vanity  and  she  held  the 
book  close  to  her  face  to  hide  her  smile,  contin- 
uing in  her  low  tone,  which  was  humorously 
sarcastic:  "I'm  going  to  tell  Rosamond,  and 
she  will  tell  Mr.  Weatherbee  and  I  hope  he'll 
thrash  you  good!'' 

"And  I  suppose  you'd  be  jolly  well  glad  to 
help  him,  I'm  thinking  really." 

"Yes,  I  would,  speaking  in  such  a  rude  way 
of  a  man  with  brains,"  and  she  threw  a  glance 
of  contempt  over  the  top  of  her  book  that 
silenced  Thisby  for  several  seconds,  but  after 
he  had  recovered  and  adjusted  his  tie,  he 
seemed  to  take  on  new  courage. 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        109 

''Brains !"  he  exclaimed  in  a  braggadocious 
tone.  "Just  because  he  wrote  a  few  blithering 
poems  that  have  put  all  the  ladies  daft." 

"His  poems  are  simply  beautiful,"  Helen 
replied  in  a  high,  taunting  key,  raising  her  eyes 
to  the  ceiling  and  shaking  her  head  in  admira- 
tion. 

"Anyone  can  write  poems  if  they  care  to 
waste  time  that  way,  don't  you  know.  Just  to 
show  you  how  easy  it  is,  I  scribbled  one  off  last 
night,  before  I  retired,  and  I'll  wager  my  head 
it's  more  to  the  point  than  Weatherbee's,  upon 
my  word  it  is  really." 

Helen  quickly  forgot  the  part  she  was  play- 
ing and  jumped  to  her  feet.  "Did  you  really 
write  a  poem?" 

"Upon  my  word,"  Thisby  replied  as  he  re- 
moved a  small  piece  of  paper  from  the  pocket 
of  his  waistcoat. 

"Read  it,"  and  she  clapped  the  covers  of  her 
book  together,  sank  in  the  chair  and  listened 
earnestly,  and  after  he  had  read  a  few  lines  he 
was  interrupted  by  her  long  drawn  out  "Oh," 
that  seemed  to  last  a  minute,  then  gazed  re- 
proachfully into  his  guilty  eyes.  "You  hypo- 
crite, that  is  in  this  month's  Smart  Set." 


110        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Upon  my  word  I  wrote  it,"  and  he  held  the 
poem,  which  was  written  in  his  own  handwrit- 
ing, close  to  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  you  wrote  it,  but  you  copied  it  out  of 
the  Smart  Set." 

"Well,  I  wrote  it,  anyway,"  he  returned  with 
a  smile.  "Oh,  Helen,  don't  rig  me;  on  your 
word,  aren't  you  going  for  a  spin?" 

"No,  I'm  going  to  stay  for  the  luncheon." 

"Then  by  Jove,  I  stay,  too!" 

"You  can't." 

"I  will,  upon  my  word,  if  you  don't  go  for  a 
spin — I  stick,"  and  he  sat  in  the  chair,  crossed 
his  legs,  folded  his  arms  and  formed  a  picture 
of  defiance,  which  succeeded  to  make  her  for- 
get the  dignified  role  she  had  been  playing  and 
be  quite  her  excited  self. 

"You  can't,  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Weatherbee  is  the 
guest  of  honor  and  there  are  no  other  men 
allowed." 

"I'll  sit  in  the  library,"  he  answered  firmly. 

"You  can't,  papa  is  in  there." 

"I'll  smoke  him  out  with  one  cigarette." 

"I  dare  you  to  smoke  a  cigarette  in  there !" 

"I  know  what  I'll  do,"  and  he  clapped  his 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        111 

hands  together  as  if  a  great  thought  had  ar- 
rived: "I'll  go  in  and  let  the  governor  guy  me 
'til  luncheon  time  and— 

"You  can't,"  interrupted  Helen,  who  was  be- 
coming extremely  worried  at  the  persistent 
attitude  he  had  taken.  "There  are  no  other 
men  permitted  to  the  luncheon  but  Mr. 
Weatherbee." 

"But  if  he  doesn't  come  you'd  be  jolly  well 
glad  to  have  me  here  to  fill  up  the  gap,  don't 
you  know." 

"But  he  is  coming." 

"Well,  I  can  sit  in  there  while  you  are  at 
luncheon  and  let  the  Governor  guy  me  and 
we'll  take  a  spin  after — a  jolly  happy  thought, 
don't  you  know — really  it  is,  I  must  explode  it 
to  the  Governor,"  and  he  entered  the  library 
prepared  for  his  usual  guying,,  which  always 
terminated  with  some  sound  business  advice. 

After  his  feeble  tap  on  the  door  had  been 
answered  by  Kent's  gruff  "Come  in,"  he 
broke  the  several  seconds  of  chilled  silence  that 
greeted  him  with  a  bold,  "Howdy,  Governor," 
that  was  answered  by  an  unwelcome  grunt  fol- 
lowed by  another  cold  wave  of  silence  which 


112        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

amused  Thisby  more  than  it  frightened  him, 
for  he  had  been  a  sort  of  a  plaything  around 
the  Kent  home  too  many  years  to  be  frozen  out 
by  Mr.  Kent  refusing  to  enter  into  a  conversa- 
tion, and  sitting  with  his  feet  up  on  the  desk, 
leaving  nothing  for  Thisby  to  see  but  the  back 
of  his  head. 


ROSAMOND 


CHAPTER  X 

HELEN,  knowing  the  frame  of  mind  her 
father  was  in,  his  opinion  of  Thisby,  his  usual 
attitude  toward  him  unless  he  wished  to  joke 
with  him  about  the  color  of  his  tie,  waistcoat, 
or  the  stripes  in  his  shirt,  which  were  seldom 
any  other  than  a  bright  red,  watched  the 
library  door  with  a  great  deal  of  anxiety  for 
several  minutes,  and  when  Thisby  failed  to 
return,  her  surprise  and  curiosity  led  her  ear 
close  to  the  keyhole. 

"Has  he  gone?"  Rosamond  whispered  in  a 
^one  of  delight  when  she  entered  the  room. 

"Yes,"  Helen  replied,  tiptoeing  away  from 
the  keyhole.  "He  has  gone  in  there,"  and  her 
small,  white  hand  trembled  when  she  pointed 
to  the  door  of  the  library. 

"Why  didn't  you  send  him  home?"  Rosa- 
mond inquired  impatiently. 

"I  just  couldn't  get  him  to  go — I  tried  and 
tried,  and  he  absolutely  refused." 

The  names  of  the  Misses  Curtis,  Page  and 
Alldwin,  three  members  of  the  "Ten  Club," 

113 


114       THE   GUEST   OF  HONOR 

were  accurately  announced  by  the  butler  and 
each  one  was  greeted  affectionately  by  Rosa- 
mond. 

Though  Helen  welcomed  each  lady  with  a 
sincere  clasp  of  the  hand,  their  smartly  cut 
gowns  and  attractive  hats  claimed  a  large 
share  of  her  attention  and  as  her  longing  eyes 
rested  on  Marjorie  Page's  large  white  hat,  she 
wondered  if  it  would  be  removed  during  the 
meeting  long  enough  to  see  if  it  was  as  becom- 
ing to  her  as  it  was  to  Marjorie. 

"Are  we  the  first  here?"  Miss  Curtis  asked. 
"We  came  early  on  account  of  the  business 
meeting  before  luncheon." 

"I  hope  all  the  girls  come  early  today," 
Rosamond  answered  eagerly,  "so  we  can  have 
a  good,  long  meeting  just  about  business." 

"I  was  telling  lone,"  and  Miss  Alldwin 
looked  at  Rosamond  as  if  she  hoped  to  gain  her 
approval,  "that  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  idea 
to  impose  a  fine  on  any  of  us  girls  who  mention 
gowns,  hats,  opera,  or  anything  that  isn't  con- 
nected with  the  club,  during  the  meeting." 

"I  think  it  would  be  a  capital  idea,"  Rosa- 
mond exclaimed,  and  Helen  suggested  that 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        115 

they  all  remove  their  hats  and  have  them 
where  they  wouldn't  be  seen  during  the  meet- 
ing, and  she  was  quite  disappointed  when  her 
suggestion  was  passed  by  with  a  kindly  smile. 

Miss  Curtis  became  extremely  enthusiastic 
when  Rosamond  asked  her  how  her  little 
patient  was  doing,  and  the  unconscious  love 
with  which  she  described  the  way  it  was  learn- 
ing to  walk  made  one  almost  wish  they  were  a 
crippled  child  being  cared  for  by  a  member  of 
the  "Ten  Club." 

"We  have  built  on  a  board  a  little  sort  of  a 
fence  that  just  comes  up  to  his  waist — no,  there 
are  two  fences,  one  on  either  side  of  this  board 
and  he  walks  between  the  fences,  hangs  on 
with  each  little  hand  while  he  drags  his  little 
feet  along.  It  is  simply  wonderful  the  way  he 
is  improving.  What  do  you  suppose  he  said 
to  me  this  morning  when  I  called  to  take  him 
out  in  the  car?  He  was  standing  between  the 
little  fences  when  I  went  in,  and  he  looked  up 
at  me  and  laughed  and  tried  to  shake  the  fence 
with  his  tiny  hand  and  yelled:  'I  got  'egs.' 

"How  long  have  you  been  caring  for  this 
one,  lone?" 

"Almost  a  year." 


116        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Could  he  walk  at  all  when  you  first  took 
him?" 

"No,  he  had  never  touched  his  little  feet  to 
the  floor." 

"Well,  my  youngster's  back  is  as  straight  as 
my  hand,"  and  as  Rosamond  held  out  her  hand, 
she  was  interrupted  by  Miss  Page,  who  was 
anxious  to  tell  of  her  little  patient  whom  she 
was  about  to  dismiss  in  perfect  health,  but  the 
arrival  of  Miss  Sprague  and  Miss  Seward  de- 
layed her  pleasure,  and  Grace  Sprague's  hat 
gave  Helen  an  unexpected  pleasure  that  she 
hadn't  dreamed  of,  for  she  hadn't  thought  of 
anything  more  beautiful  than  Marjorie  Page's 
hat,  but  as  her  large  blue  eyes  traveled  from 
one  to  the  other,  she  couldn't  decide  which  she 
would  look  best  in.  Miss  Page  made  another 
unsuccessful  attempt  to  tell  of  her  little  patient, 
for  Grace  Sprague  took  the  floor  and  her  un- 
conscious enthusiasm  enabled  her  to  hold  their 
attention  until  she  had  given  an  imitation  of 
how  her  little  Towser  could  run. 

"He  can  actually  run,  girls,"  she  exclaimed 
in  a  tone  so  high  that  her  voice  broke  before 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        117 

she  completed  the  sentence.  "We  took  his 
little  steel  jacket  off  yesterday  and  he  just 
screamed  with  joy  and  ran  around  the  room." 
Miss  Page  rose  once  more  to  inform  them  of 
the  success  she  had  been  having  when  Edith 
Seward's  eagerness  led  her  to  the  center  of  the 
room  to  describe  how  her  little  girl's  head  was 
being  carried  in  a  frame  that  rested  on  her 
shoulders.  Miss  Page  listened  politely  until 
she  thought  the  child  had  had  its  share  of  de- 
scription and  she  finally  lectured  on  her  case 
until  Mary  Cradduck  and  Catherine  Chapin 
arrived,  then  the  subject  was  changed  just 
long  enough  to  exchange  a  friendly,  familiar 
greeting,  each  girl  calling  the  other  by  her 
given  name  and  the  atmosphere  of  long  ac- 
quaintance and  sincere  friendship  for  each 
other  seemed  to  make  interruptions  a  thing  of 
welcome,  so  Mary  Cradduck  silenced  every- 
thing by  exclaiming:  "Listen,  girls!"  and  de- 
scribed her  patient  as  a  soldier,  six  years  of  age, 
whose  name  was  Mike  Finn,  named  after  his 
father,  the  late  Mike  Finn.  "The  first  request 
I  made  of  his  mother  was  to  have  Mike's  red 
hair  cut,  and  during  my  absence  the  economi- 


118        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

cal  Mrs.  Finn  cut  Mike's  hair  herself  and  I  wish 
you  could  see  it.  Rosamond,  I  wish  you  could 
see  it." 

"What  is  the  case?"  Rosamond  inquired 
eagerly. 

"Limb  trouble." 

"Is  it  curable?" 

"Yes,  I'll  bet  that  little  tad  will  be  playing 
football  in  six  months." 

"It  is  your  turn  now,  Catherine,"  Rosamond 
remarked  tenderly,  as  she  noticed  Miss  Chapin 
who  had  been  listening  quietly  to  the  encour- 
aging descriptions  that  each  girl  had  given  of 
her  patient  and  Rosamond  saw  from  the  sad 
expression  of  her  eyes  that  she  was  not  anxious 
to  talk  of  her  case,  so  she  changed  the  subject 
by  joyfully  exclaiming:  "Girls,  aren't  you  de- 
lighted to  know  that  Ida  is  going  to  become  a 
member  today?" 

"Isn't  it  fine?"  several  of  the  girls  answered 
with  a  sincerity  that  might  make  one  think 
they  were  welcoming  the  home-coming  of  an 
absent  sister. 

"Everyone  just  loves  Ida,  anyway,"  Miss 
Seward  remarked.  "She  has  seemed  like  a 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        119 

member  for  a  long  time.  She  loves  children 
and  she  has  been  taking  care  of  a  little  tike  for 
almost  a  year.  Out  of  all  the  names  on  the 
waiting  list,  Ida's  was  the  only  one  suggested 
for  membership.  It  was  certainly  a  great  com- 
pliment to  her.  We  are  lucky  to  get  her.  We 
need  her;  she  is  a  worker." 

The  names  of  Miss  Butterwing  and  Miss 
Lombard  were  gently  announced  by  the  butler 
and  each  girl  rose  to  welcome  the  new  member 
and  waited  their  turn  to  clasp  her  hand  and 
greet  her  with  affectionate  congratulations. 

If  Mr.  Gibson  and  Mr.  Christy  could  have 
had  a  few  minutes  in  the  corner,  unnoticed  by 
the  ten  young  ladies  as  they  unconsciously 
smiled  and  chatted  in  a  circle  under  the  sun- 
tinted  light  from  the  large  chandelier,  they 
would  have  given  the  lovers  of  their  drawings 
something  they  would  never  forget. 

"Isn't  she  the  lucky  girl?"  Miss  Butterwing 
asked. 

"Think  how  lucky  we  are,"  responded  Rosa- 
mond, "to  secure  a  worker  like  Ida  in  our 
Club." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  was  the  mild  ejaculation 


120        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

from  several  of  the  girls  who  didn't  quite  catch 
the  meaning  of  Miss  Butterwing's  remark. 

"Oh,  yes,  the  acknowledgment  of  our  luck 
was  shown  in  our  selection — I  mean  that  Ida 
is  lucky  to  be  made  a  member  today  when  we 
are  entertaining  an  unknown  author,  and  if  I 
am  not  mistaken,  he  has  been  the  cause  of  a 
few  new  hats  to  be  worn  today,  hasn't  he?" 
and  she  smiled  at  one  or  two  of  the  girls  whom 
she  suspected  of  having  made  a  special  effort  to 
dress  more  becomingly  than  usual  for  this  par- 
ticular luncheon,  and  some  of  the  girls  did  con- 
fess that  they  had  thought  of  Mr.  Weatherbee 
when  they  were  deciding  what  gown  they 
would  wear. 

"Tell  us  about  him,  Rosamond — what  is  he 
like?"  Miss  Page  requested  eagerly  as  she  sat 
on  the  large  settee  followed  by  as  many  of  the 
girls  as  could  crowd  themselves  between  its 
ends.  Each  girl  expressed  an  anxious  desire  to 
hear  of  the  poet  as  they  seated  themselves  and 
waited  patiently  for  Rosamond. 

The  sad  expression  which  had  unconsciously 
crept  into  her  eyes  as  she  thought  of  Marguer- 
ite's picture  caused  several  of  the  girls  to  re- 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        121 

mark  in  a  disappointed  tone:  "Oh,  he  isn't 
coming!" 

"Yes,  he  is,"  Rosamond  answered  quickly 
when  she  realized  she  had  been  standing  in  the 
center  of  the  room  speechless  for  several 
moments.  "In  the  first  place,"  she  continued 
in  a  tone  in  which  she  forced  sufficient  enthusi- 
asm to  conceal  her  grief,  "I  haven't  met  Mr. 
Weatherbee.  I  met  his  secretary,  a  most 
charming  character,  quite  as  quaint  as  the 
studio  itself,  and  after  we  had  waited  for  Mr. 
Weatherbee  for  some  time,  his  secretary  said 
there  was  a  chance  of  his  not  coming  to  the 
studio  that  day,  so  I  wrote  him  a  very  urgent 
note  telling  him  what  a  decided  hit  his  poem 
had  made  with  the  audience  and  especially 
with  the  ladies  of  the  club  and  that  we  insisted 
on  his  accepting  our  invitation,  so  the  next  day 
I  received  a  note  written  by  Mr.  Weatherbee 
himself  on  a  little  sheet  of  plain  paper  such  as 
authors  use,  saying:  "With  grateful  apprecia- 
tion, I  accept  the  kind  invitation  of  the  'Ten 
Club.'  Faithfully  yours,  John  Weatherbee." 

"Three  cheers  for  Rosamond,"  Miss  Butter- 
wing  exclaimed,  and  the  nine  girls  applauded 


122        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

earnestly  with  their  white  gloved  hands  as 
they  cheered  Rosamond,  who  bowed  playfully. 

"Girls,  I  wish  you  could  see  his  studio.  It  is 
like  something  an  artist  would  paint.  I  just 
bated  to  come  away,"  ^nd  when  Rosamond  fin- 
ished her  flowery  description  of  John  Weath- 
erbee's  home  in  the  attic,  each  girl  was  leaning 
far  forward  in  her  chair  picturing  the  tiny 
room  with  the  worn  rag  carpet,  the  broken 
rocker  and  the  one  small  window,  as  a  spot 
used  for  inspiration,  little  dreaming  that  the 
man  whom  they  expected  to  entertain  so  lav- 
ishly in  the  Kent  mansion  knew  no  other  home 
and  was  at  that  moment  sitting  in  the  broken 
rocker  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands,  wondering  if  he  had 
done  right  in  accepting  their  invitation. 

Miss  Butterwing  suggested  the  meeting  be 
called  to  order  and  all  the  business  details  of 
the  club  attended  to  before  the  Guest  arrived, 
and  Rosamond  led  the  way  to  the  adjoining 
room,  which  had  been  carefully  arranged  for 
the  purpose.  Helen's  longing  gaze  followed 
Marjorie  Page's  large  white  hat  until  Rosa- 
mond closed  the  door  and  shook  her  lace  hand- 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        123 

kerchief  at  Helen  and  smiled  affectionately, 
saying:  "  We  won't  be  long,  Kiddie." 

The  nine  young  ladies  seated  themselves  in 
the  comfortable  chairs  that  were  arranged  in 
the  form  of  a  horseshoe  facing  a  large  mahog- 
any table,  at  which  Miss  Butterwing  sat,  ready 
to  conduct  the  meeting,  and  the  serious,  friend- 
ly attention  that  each  girl  bestowed  upon  their 
leader  was  extremely  unusual  for  a  ladies'  club. 
No  gavel  was  used  to  call  the  meeting  to  order 
or  to  stop  the  buzz  of  conversation.  Each  girl 
sat  silently  with  her  eyes  resting  tenderly  on 
Miss  Butterwing.  She  did  not  rise  to  address 
the  club,  but  sat  with  her  hands  resting  on  the 
table  and  spoke  in  a  colloquial  tone. 

"Girls,  the  object  of  this  meeting  today, 
which  we  term  a  business  meeting,  is  to  wel- 
come Ida  as  a  member  of  the  'Ten  Club'  and 
for  her  sake  I  shall  state  as  briefly  as  possible 
its  history.  The  organization  covers  a  period 
of  over  thirty  years;  some  of  our  mothers  were 
its  original  members.  It  was  started  by  ten 
girls  who  were  anxious  to  do  something  more 
than  chat  their  lives  away  around  a  tea  table. 
Out  of  a  large  social  circle  there  were  only  ten 


124        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

of  these  girls  who  got  together  and  decided 
that  they  would  give  at  least  an  hour  of  their 
time  each  day  to  some  crippled  child  under  the 
age  of  ten,  whose  parents  were  unable  to  give 
it  proper  medical  attention.  They  engaged  two 
of  the  most  celebrated  specialists  in  New  York 
to  take  charge  of  these  cases.    It  is  the  wish  of 
each  member  to  find  some  crippled  child  re- 
gardless of  race  or  religion,  place  it  in  charge 
of  our  physicians  and  spend  an  hour  each  day 
with  the  child,  doing  what  she  can  do  to  bene- 
fit and  educate  it.    We  have  the  names  of  over 
three  hundred  cases  which  have  been   cured 
during  the  life  of  this  club.    Some  have  turned 
out  to  be  prominent  business  men  here  in  New 
York.    There  are  no  rules  or  duties  known  to 
the  club.     Everything  is  done  through  love. 
No  name,   photograph   or   statement   of   any 
child  or  case  is  given  to  any  newspaper.    Any 
girl  who  marries  becomes  a  retired  member 
and  her  work  with  the  club  ceases,"  and  Miss 
Butterwing   laughed   aloud    as    she    said:     "I 
guess  that  is  done  to  enable  her  to  give  her 
husband  an  hour  of  her  time  each  day.    There 
are  no  initiation  fees  or  dues  attached  to  the 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        125 

club.  The  physicians  are  paid  semi-annually 
from  an  equal  collection  from  each  member, 
which  they  usually  collect  from  'father/  and  if 
he  doesn't  pony  up  at  the  request  of  his  daugh- 
ter he  is  called  upon  by  the  entire  club,  armed 
with  hat  pins  and  we  have  never  failed  to 
collect.  We  called  on  Mr.  Kent  once,  and 
after  we  had  collected  we  fined  him  the  price 
of  a  lunch  for  our  trouble.  We  like  to  make 
these  calls,  so  after  you  have  made  a  polite  re- 
quest and  they  don't  shell  out,  just  report  it  to 
the  club  and  it  will  do  the  rest  and  lunch  at  his 
expense. 

"The  literary  side  of  our  club  is  left  to  the 
individual  taste  and  desire  of  each  member. 
We  hold  a  meeting  which  is  followed  by  a 
luncheon  every  month  for  the  purpose  of  dis- 
cussing opera,  drama,  poetry,  or  any  subject 
which  a  member  wishes  to  introduce.  We  give 
a  benefit  performance  each  year  for  the  club, 
but  this  performance  is  not  known  or  referred 
to  as  a  benefit.  It  is  advertised  as  'The  "Ten 
Club's"  Annual  Amateur  Performance'  given 
exclusively  by  the  members.  Each  girl  takes 
part  and  does  what  she  can  to  make  it  a  sue- 


cess.  Rosamond  was  the  bright  particular  star 
of  our  last  performance.  For  these  perform- 
ances we  advertise  for  one  act  plays,  poems  and 
songs  by  unknown  authors.  Our  last  enter- 
tainment was  the  most  successful  one  we  have 
ever  given.  Rosamond  acted  as  manager, 
stage  manager  and  general  director,  and  she 
can  give  us  the  particulars.  Is  there  anything 
that  I  have  forgotten  to  say,  Rosamond?"  Miss 
Rutterwing  asked  as  she  rose  to  give  her  the 
chair. 

"You  did  beautifully,"  and  the  ladies  showed 
their  appreciation  by  applauding  generously. 

Rosamond  stood  behind  the  table  and  faced 
her  companions  with  a  pleasant  smile;  it  was 
really  a  proud  smile,  a  smile  that  might  have 
expressed  a  tiny  note  of  conceit,  for  she  was 
more  than  pleased  with  her  managerial  efforts. 
The  entertainment  had  gone  off  smoothly  and 
the  financial  returns  were  far  beyond  their  ex- 
pectations. 

"As  you  all  know,  girls,  our  entertainment 
was  simply  a  triumph  both  artistically  and 
financially — just  think,  everything  is  paid  and 
we  only  lost  two  hundred  sixty-three  dollars 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        127 

and  thirty-five  cents,"  and  each  lady  cheered 
and  applauded  vociferously  for  many  seconds. 
"And  we  were  just  as  great  a  success  artisti- 
cally as  we  were  financially,"  she  continued 
with  increased  pride.  "Of  course,  the  enter- 
tainment was  a  little  too  long,  but  we  didn't 
start  until  two  and  were  out  before  seven,  and 
everyone  remained  until  it  was  over  but  the 
men.  I  guess  they  wanted  to  smoke,"  she  said 
as  if  she  were  trying  to  apologize  for  their  leav- 
ing. "Mamma  says  (for  an  entertainment 
given  by  girls)  it  is  the  best  one  she  ever  saw  in 
all  her  life.  Some  of  us  forgot  our  lines  in  the 
play,  but  mamma  said  the  audience  expected 
us  to  so  they  were  not  disappointed.  What  else 
is  there  to  say — Oh,  yes,  Butty  and  I  bought 
the  prize  for  Mr.  Weatherbee,  it's  upstairs  in 
my  room.  I'll  send  and  get  it  when  we  finish 
here  and  you  can  see  if  you  like  it.  If  you 
don't  we  can  change  it  for  something  else. 
That  is  all  I  can  think  of  to  say — is  there  any- 
thing I  have  forgotten?"  and  her  question  was 
answered  by  another  outburst  of  applause. 

Ida  Lombard  'was  acknowledged  a  member 
of  the  "Ten  Club"  after  each  one  of  the  girls 


128        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

had  initiated  her  with  a  rugged  hug  and  a  ten- 
der kiss  on  the  cheek  and  the  meeting  was 
thrown  open  for  the  discussion  of  any  subject 
that  might  be  introduced  and  John  Weather- 
bee's  poem  was  discussed,  analyzed  and  pro- 
nounced a  masterpiece. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THISBY'S  many  efforts  to  interest  Kent  on 
such  subjects  as  the  weather,  automobiles, 
golf,  tennis,  bridge,  theaters,  teas  and  lunch- 
eons proved  useless.  He  replied  to  some  with 
a  grunt,  some  with  silence  and  others  by  a 
nervous  tapping  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  but 
Thisby's  courage  remained  firm  and  after  he 
had  watched  the  back  of  Kent's  head  for  many 
minutes,  waiting  for  a  reply  to  his  last  ques- 
tion, he  informed  Mr.  Kent  that  he  had  for- 
gotten to  put  his  watch  on  and  would  like  to 
know  the  time. 

"I  haven't  my  glasses,"  Kent  grunted  as  he 
held  his  watch  before  Thisby. 

"It  will  soon  be  time  for  the  bloomin'  lunch- 
eon," he  said  as  Kent  walked  out  of  the  library 
and  closed  the  door  with  a  slam.  "I  hope  the 
beggar  doesn't  come,"  Thisby  thought  to  him- 
self, and  he  smiled  at  the  rage  he  had  worked 
Kent  into. 

Kent  paced  the  drawing  room  floor  with  his 

129 


130        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  puffing  savage- 
ly at  his  black  cigar. 

"Are  you  feeling  any  better,  Richard?"  Mrs. 
Kent  asked  in  a  sympathetic  voice  as  she  en- 
tered the  room. 

"No,"  he  replied  gruffly.  "How  can  I  get  a 
chance  to  feel  better?  I  can't  get  a  corner  to 
myself  in  my  own  house !" 

"Why  don't  you  sit  in  the  library?" 

"I  can't  sit  in  there  when  that  stick  of  candy 
is  around  talking  his  silly  head  off." 

"Who?" 

"Thisby.  Now  I'm  ill,  and  if  he  lights  a 
cigarette  in  this  house,  I'll  ask  him  to  go  home. 
I  wish,  dear,  you  would  ask  this  club  to  have 
their  luncheons  some  place  else.  The  idea  of 
inviting  a  strange  man  here  whom  they  have 
never  seen  and  know  nothing  of!" 

"The  club  invited  him." 

"It  is  wrong,  my  dear — it  is  wrong.  He  may 
be  someone  we  would  be  ashamed  to  have  our 
children  know." 

Mrs.  Kent  sat  patiently  and  listened  while 
he  tore  through  the  bitter  past  that  was  gnaw- 
ing at  his  heart  and  causing  him  many  sleep- 
less hours  which  no  one  knew  of  but  himself. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        131 

Weatherbee  slowly  mounted  the  marble 
steps  of  the  Kent  mansion  and  pressed  the 
electric  button  firmly.  He  had  pictured  the 
situation  and  studied  it  until  his  mind  was  un- 
balanced as  to  whether  he  was  right  or  wrong 
in  accepting  the  invitation.  He  saw  Warner's 
picture  of  the  cad  who  would  permit  a  worn 
suit  of  clothes  to  prevent  him  from  meeting  a 
friend  who  sought  his  acquaintance,  one  whom 
he  admired  as  he  had  never  admired  before, 
and  he  pressed  the  button  again — and  the  door 
opened. 

"Who  shall  I  say?"  the  butler  inquired 
politely  when  he  saw  there  was  no  card. 

"Mr.  Weatherbee,"  he  answered  softly. 

Kent  stood  motionless  in  the  center  of  the 
room  when  Weatherbee's  name  was  an- 
nounced, and  when  Mrs.  Kent  requested  the 
butler  to  show  him  in,  Kent  started  for  the 
library,  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  with  a 
crash,  when  he  was  met  by  a  cloud  of  smoke 
from  Thisby's  cigarette. 

"Hell!"  he  growled  as  he  returned  to  the 
drawing  room. 

"You  talk  with  Mr.  Weatherbee,  Richard, 


132        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

until  the  ladies  finish  their  meeting.  They 
won't  be  but  a  few  minutes.  I'll  try  and  send 
Thisby  home." 

"If  it  weren't  for  his  mother  I'd  send  him 
home,"  Kent  mumbled  half  to  himself,  "and  I 
would  do  it  in  a  way  that  would  wrinkle  some 
of  those  wide,  foolish  stripes  in  his  trousers, 
too." 

Mrs.  Kent  explained  in  a  tender,  motherly 
way  how  busy  the  girls  were  going  to  be  and 
that  Mr.  Kent  was  really  ill,  but  it  made  no 
serious  impression  on  Thisby;  in  fact,  Mr. 
Kent's  condition  amused  him  and  he  simply 
laughed  when  Mrs.  Kent  suggested  that  he 
run  home  for  awhile  and  come  over  tomorrow. 

"If  he's  ill,  why  doesn't  he  go  to  his  room  and 
lie  down  for  a  bit?"  Thisby  asked  in  a  tone  of 
amused  impatience.  "He  isn't  ill,  he's  simply 
ugly.  I  tried  every  possible  way  to  entertain 
him.  I  talked  of  everything  I  could  think  of 
and  he  just  simply  wouldn't  talk.  It  wouldn't 
be  very  considerate  of  me  to  go  home  now. 
The  girls  are  not  sure  that  Mr.  Weatherbee  is 
coming,  and  if  he  doesn't  come,  they  may  need 
me  to  fill  in  for  them.  I  promised  Helen  that 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        133 

I  would  stick  around  and  I'm  not  going  to 
break  my  word  with  her  just  because  Mr.  Kent 
has  a  grouch  on,"  and  he  puffed  heroically  at 
his  cigarette  as  he  crossed  his  legs  and  swung 
his  foot  contentedly. 

Mrs.  Kent  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  seconds 
and  offered  to  'phone  him  herself  if  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee  didn't  come,  but  Thisby  replied  that  it 
would  be  more  honorable  for  him  to  keep  his 
word  and  wait. 

"Til  be  broad-minded  about  it,"  he  said  while 
he  placed  the  thumb  of  each  hand  in  the  arm- 
hole  of  his  waistcoat:  "If  Mr.  Kent  wants  to 
act  peevish  and  childish  about  sitting  in  here 
and  chatting  with  me,  I'll  wait  upstairs,  or  any 
place,  but  I  mustn't  go  home  and  break  my 
word  to  Helen." 

Kent  paced  nervously  back  and  forth  in  the 
drawing  room  and  paused  under  the  chan- 
delier as  the  butler  politely  bowed  John  Weath- 
erbee  into  the  room. 

Weatherbee's  carefully  brushed  hair,  his 
long  thin  face,  his  low  white  collar  that  was 
partly  hidden  behind  a  black  flowing  tie  with 
slightly  ravelled  ends,  his  shiny  double-breast- 


134        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

ed  blue  suit  and  worn  shoes,  which  had  been 
carefully  polished,  were  taken  in  by  one  pierc- 
ing glance  as  Kent  slowly  raised  his  left  hand 
to  remove  his  cigar  and  pushed  his  right  hand 
deep  into  the  pocket  of  his  trousers. 

Each  man  eyed  the  other  carefully,  and  an 
expression  of  bewildered  amazement  crept  into 
Kent's  face  as  he  stepped  back  on  his  right 
foot,  drew  the  left  one  back  slowly  and  raised 
himself  to  the  extreme  height  of  his  stature. 
Many  thoughts  flew  through  his  active  mind 
as  he  gazed  at  the  careworn  character  which 
stood  before  him,  which  was  so  different  from 
any  of  the  many  he  had  pictured  since  he  had 
heard  of  the  name  Weatherbee.  His  walk  in 
life  had  never  brought  him  in  contact  with 
such  a  type  as  now  stood  before  him,  for  they 
seldom  got  beyond  his  office  boy,  and  never 
passed  his  secretary.  "What  is  his  game?"  he 
thought  to  himself  as  he  replaced  his  cigar  and 
gripped  it  firmly  between  his  teeth  and  threw 
both  hands  behind  his  back  then  stared  at 
Weatherbee  in  blank  amazement.  He  remem- 
bered that  Mrs.  Kent  or  Rosamond  had  told 
him  that  they  hadn't  seen  Mr.  Weatherbee 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        135 

himself  and  that  was  the  only  excuse  he  could 
find  for  such  a  dressed  person  being  in  his 
house,  and  his  attitude  became  more  rigid  and 
his  stare  more  savage  while  his  eyes  traveled 
slowly  from  Weatherbee's  head  to  his  feet. 

Weatherbee  stood  between  the  silk  portieres 
and  met  his  cold,  icy  reception  with  a  warm, 
courageous  smile,  that  flittered  away  gradually 
and  left  his  long,  thin  face  with  nothing  but  a 
twinkling  left  eye  to  relieve  it  of  its  sad  ex- 
pression. 

/  "He  at  least  does  me  the  honor  of  being 
rude,"  Weatherbee  thought  to  himself  while 
he  tried  to  master  an  embarrassing  situation, 
which  in  spite  of  its  seriousness  was  becoming 
somewhat  humorous  on  account  of  Kent's  lion- 
like  manner.  He  had  schooled  himself  and  wis 
quite  prepared  to  meet  a  group  of  young  ladies 
and  watch  with  great  interest  their  disappoint- 
ment at  his  appearance  or  entertain  them  with 
verses  from  their  favorite  poets,  or  give  his 
honest  opinion  of  the  many  authors  with 
whose  works  he  was  familiar,  but  he  was  not 
ready  for  the  rude,  brutal  manner  in  which 
Kent  was  receiving  him,  though  the  time  that 


136        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

had  elapsed  during  which  each  man  waited  for 
the  other  to  speak  gave  him  an  opportunity  to 
call  on  his  judgment  to  decide  what  tack  he 
would  take.  His  left  eye  twinkled  until  it 
danced  and  the  right  eye  seemed  to  applaud  it 
as  they  both  gazed  steadily,  though  tenderly, 
at  Kent,  who  still  stood  like  a  steel  statue,  and 
Weatherbee's  lips  smiled  pleasantly  as  he 
spoke  in  a  low,  dignified  tone  that  was  almost 
a  whisper. 

"I  am  Mr.  Weatherbee." 

"I  am  Richard  Kent,"  the  latter  retorted 
quickly. 

"Oh,  father  of  Miss  Rosamond  Kent?" 

"Yes." 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you,"  and  Weatherbee 
bowed  politely. 

"Will  you  be  seated?"  and  Kent  pointed  to 
a  chair  just  inside  of  the  entrance,  and  Weath- 
erbee seated  himself  and  whispered  an  amused 
"thank  you." 

"I  understand  you  haven't  met  my  daughter 
yet." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have  had  that  pleasure,"  Weath- 


"His  coarse,  grizzly  personality  did  anything  but 
frighten  Weaiherbee" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        137 

erbee  replied,  forgetting  that  he  had  met  her  as 
his  own  secretary. 

Kent  became  puzzled  as  he  hesitated  for  a 
few  seconds  and  muttered  to  himself:  "I  un- 
derstood them  to  say  she  hadn't  met  you." 

Weatherbee  leaned  back  in  the  big  chair 
resting  his  hands  on  its  cushioned  arms  and 
studied  Kent  calmly  and  carefully  as  he  ran  his 
nervous  fingers  through  his  white  hair  and 
gazed  steadily  at  the  floor.  His  coarse,  grizzly 
personality,  his  rude  stare  and  lack  of  any 
trace  of  politeness  or  civility,  did  anything  but 
frighten  Weatherbee;  in  fact,  it  acted  as  a 
tonic  to  his  courage  and  he  became  disgusted 
with  the  atmosphere  of  the  mansion  and  grew 
proud  of  his  poverty  and  his  humble  home  in 
the  attic. 

"Where  did  you  meet  my  daughter?"  Kent 
asked,  drawing  his  head  up  slowly  and  search- 
ing Weatherbee  with  half-closed  eyes. 

"At  my  studio,"  Weatherbee  answered  in  a 
gentle,  polite  tone,  which  increased  Kent's  as- 
tonishment and  caused  him  to  open  his  mouth 
as  wide  as  he  did  his  eyes,  and  his  voice  soft- 
ened with  surprise. 


138        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"May  I  ask  where  your  studio  is  located?" 

"On  Twenty-ninth  Street." 

"Where  is  your  home?" 

"In  my  studio." 

"Do  your  parents  live  in  New  York?" 

"My  parents  are  dead." 

Kent  stuck  the  big  cigar  between  his  teeth 
and  walked  the  full  length  of  the  large  room 
with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back  and  his 
head  bowed  in  wonderment. 

Weatherbee  followed  Kent's  heavy  figure 
with  a  sympathetic  eye.  The  wealth  he  repre- 
sented faded  into  dust,  the  mansion  became 
nothing  but  cold  stone  walls,  the  silk  portieres 
and  damask  seemed  like  rags,  while  his  own 
shiny  blue  suit  felt  like  velvet. 

"It  is  a  study  of  life  that  I  wouldn't  have 
missed  for  a  fortune,"  he  thought  to  himself 
and  tried  to  decide  whether  he  would  leave  at 
once  or  bear  the  humiliation  and  remain  as  a 
mere  student  of  human  nature. 

Kent  caught  his  wife's  eye  as  she  entered  the 
room,  and  his  sarcastic  smile  puzzled  her  until 
she  saw  Weatherbee  rise  from  his  chair 
quickly. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        139 

"My  dear,  let  me  present  Mr.  Weatherbee— 
this  is  Mrs.  Kent." 

"I  am  delighted  to  know  you,"  Weatherbee 
whispered  in  an  audible  tone  as  he  bowed  po- 
litely and  a  forced  smile  that  partly  covered 
the  unconscious  look  of  surprise  that  came  in- 
to her  face,  and  extended  her  hand  gasping  in 
broken  syllables:  "I — I  am — pleased — to  meet 
you." 

"I  thank  you,"  Weatherbee  answered  in  a 
firm  tone,  then  pressed  her  hand  gently  and 
tried  to  make  it  appear  that  he  hadn't  noticed 
her  embarrassment. 

"Sit  down,"  Kent  ordered  as  he  sank  in  a 
chair  facing  Weatherbee,  who  stood  until  Mrs. 
Kent  was  seated. 

"Mr.  Weatherbee  says  he  has  met  Rosa- 
mond," and  he  gazed  steadily  at  Mrs.  Kent 
who  looked  with  surprise  and  exclaimed:  "Oh, 
I  understood  Rosamond  to  say  she  hadn't  met 
you." 

"I  don't  understand  the  situation  at  all," 
Kent  growled,  then  started  on  another  nervous 
pace,  but  was  interrupted  by  Thisby,  who 
yelled  as  he  entered  the  room  and  saw  Weath- 


140        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

erbee:  "I  jolly  well  knew  it — I  told  you  so — 
Weather  can't  come,  eh?" 

Kent  turned  suddenly,  his  eyes  flashed  and 
his  voice  fell  to  a  key  of  whispering  amaze- 
ment. "That  is  Mr.  Weatherbee,  is  it  not?" 

"I'll  be  jolly  well  hanged  if  I  know — I  hope 
not — he  said  yesterday  he  was  Weatherbee's 
secretary." 

A  gentle  smile  of  amused  defiance  came  over 
Weatherbee's  face — he  watched  the  three 
people  standing  speechless,  staring  first  at  him 
and  then  at  each  other. 

"Surely — surely,"  Helen  cried  in  a  disap- 
pointed tone  as  she  came  into  the  room  and 
saw  the  four  people  standing  silently  gazing 
into  each  other's  blank  faces.  "Surely  Mr. 
Weatherbee  isn't  going  to  disappoint  us  at  this 
late  hour?"  and  she  stood  directly  in  front  of 
Weatherbee  and  looked  into  his  eyes  reproach- 
fully. 

"I  think  Mr.  Weatherbee  is  going  to  disap- 
point you,"  Weatherbee  whispered  with  a 
smile,  looking  tenderly  into  the  child's  eyes. 

"Isn't  this  the  gentleman  you  invited  to 
your  luncheon?"  Kent  asked  quietly. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        141 

"Why,  no-o — he  is  Mr.  Weatherbee's  secre- 
tary, aren't  you?" 

Weatherbee  nodded  his  head  in  the  affirma- 
tive, and  his  smile  broadened  as  he  still  gazed 
on  Helen's  wide-open  eyes. 

"Thisby,  show  the  ladies  into  the  library," 
Kent  ordered,  then  sank  in  the  chair,  propped 
his  elbow  on  its  arm,  placed  his  chin  in  his 
hand  and  tried  to  look  through  Weatherbee's 
eyes  that  seemed  to  dance  with  joy  at  the  sav- 
age, speechless  figure  that  looked  as  if  it  were 
panting  with  rage  at  something  it  didn't  know 
just  where  to  bite  to  cause  the  most  painful 
wound. 

Weatherbee  sat  leisurely  in  the  large  chair, 
folded  his  hands  together,  and  watched  with 
dignified  ease  the  muscles  in  Kent's  face  swell 
with  rage  as  he  sat  waiting  for  an  explanation. 
He  smiled  with  pity  at  the  financial  giant  who 
snarled  at  his  rags,  and  Kent's  dog-like  rude- 
ness seemed  to  call  forth  and  accentuate  his 
quiet  sympathetic  dignity. 

"I  have  been  urgently  invited  to  this  house," 
he  thought  to  himself,  "and  I'll  give  them  a 
chance  to  apologize  for  the  manner  in  which 


142        THE   GUEST   OF  HONOR 

they  have  received  me  or  acknowledge  that  on 
account  of  my  attire  they  do  not  wish  to  enter- 
tain me."  Forgetting  Kent's  presence  he  closed 
his  eyes  and  dreamed  back  and  imagined  he 
saw  the  girl  who  recited  his  poem.  He  saw  her 
standing  in  his  tiny  attic  room  and  he  heard 
her  say:  "Be  sure  and  give  this  note  to  Mr. 
Weatherbee,"  and  he  wondered  if  that  gentle 
voice  could  ever  sound  rude,  or  those  large, 
soft,  brown  eyes  could  look  with  the  same 
brutal  contempt  with  which  her  father  was 
staring  at  him  now. 

The  door  of  the  adjoining  room  opened  and 
closed  and  those  two  brown  eyes  opened  wide 
and  that  gentle  voice  became  mellow  with  dis- 
appointed surprise  as  it  murmured:  "Oh,  isn't 
Mr.  Weatherbee  coming?" 

Weatherbee's  "no"  sounded  like  a  painful 
throb  from  his  throat  as  he  stood  and  shook  his 
head  slowly.  "He  sent  me  to — to — tell  you— 
that — that  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  be  with 
you  today,  he — he  is  extremely  sorry — and  he 
hopes  that — that — circumstances  will  permit 
him  to  attend  one  of  your  luncheons  later — he 
is  most  grateful  for  having  been  honored  with 
an  invitation — and — " 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        143 

The  butler  then  opened  the  library  door  and 
announced  that  Kent's  office  wished  to  speak 
with  him  over  the  'phone  on  important  busi- 
ness. 

"This  gentleman  introduced  himself  as  Mr. 
Weatherbee,"  Kent  growled  sarcastically,  then 
hurried  into  the  library  and  closed  the  door 
with  a  bang. 

Rosamond's  face  became  a  study  of  wonder- 
ment. She  seemed  to  unconsciously  float  to 
one  of  the  large  chairs,  sink  on  its  arm,  rest 
her  elbow  on  its  back  and  bury  her  face  in  her 
hand.  During  the  several  minutes  which  flew 
by  in  silence,  her  mind  wandered  up  the  nar- 
row stairs  into  the  studio  in  the  attic  and  she 
realized  the  truth. 

Weatherbee  stood  motionless.  He  hated 
himself  for  the  cowardly  way  he  had  disowned 
his  name  on  account  of  the  shabby  clothes  he 
was  now  proud  of. 

"I  have  disowned  my  name  again,"  he  said 
to  himself  bitterly,  "but  I  have  done  it  rather 
than  hurt  her  by  telling  her  who  I  am  and  how 
I  have  been  received." 

"Is  Mr.  Weatherbee  at  his  studio  now?" 
Rosamond  asked  quietly  without  moving. 


144        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"No,  he — he  isn't,"  Weatherbee  answered,  as 
if  he  had  pulled  each  word  from  his  throat  with 
a  struggle. 

"Why  did  you  tell  me  you  were  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee's  secretary?"  and  she  placed  the  other 
elbow  on  the  back  of  the  chair  and  rested  her 
forehead  in  both  her  hands. 

"Because— I— I- 

"Do  you  think  it  was  quite. fair,"  she  inter- 
rupted gently,  "to  permit  me  to  stand  in  your 
studio  and  say  all  the  things  I  did  say  about 
Mr.  Weatherbee,  thinking  he  was  absent?" 

"No,  it  wasn't.  I  am  sorry  and  I  ask  your 
pardon." 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  now — but — I'd  like  to  tell 
you  sometime  later — sometime  when  things 
are  different." 

Rosamond  raised  her  head  slowly,  her  hands 
fell  into  her  lap,  she  walked  to  the  back  of  the 
chair  and  drew  her  finger  from  one  corner  to 
the  other  many  times  before  she  spoke  and  her 
voice  became  mellow  with  sincerity. 

"In  spite  of  anything  that  has  happened  be- 
tween you  and  my  father,  I  would  like  to  have 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        145 

you  remain  to  luncheon;  the  others  won't 
know,"  and  she  smiled  sympathetically  at 
Weatherbee  who  stood  speechless  with  admir- 
ation. His  heart  seemed  to  be  beating  a  hurrah 
for  the  girl  whose  false  pride  it  had  throbbed  in 
fear  of. 

"Believe  me,  I  am  most  grateful,"  Weather- 
bee  whispered,  "but — I — oh — I  couldn't  re- 
main now — but  later — oh,  sometime — later— 
when — things  change — when  things  change — 
so  to  speak — I'll — I'll  come  to  you,  and  tell  you 
why  I  was  Mr.  Weatherbee's  secretary." 

"I  know  why,"  she  answered  in  a  tone  of  en- 
couragement. "Won't  you  permit  me  to  ex- 
plain matters  to  my  father  and  remain?" 

"I  thank  you,  but  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
remain  now." 

"Why?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  now — but — sometime." 

"I  wish  you  would,"  she  pleaded.  "There  is 
something  of  great  importance  that  I  wish  to 
speak  with  you  about." 

"Can't  you  speak  of  it  now?" 

"I'm  afraid  we  haven't  time." 

"What  is  it?" 


146       THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"It  is  regarding  the  photograph  in  the  gold 
frame — standing  on  the  table  in  your  studio." 

"That  is  the  photograph  of  a  lady  who  used 
to  live  there  in  the  house." 

"Does  she  live  there  now?" 

"No,"  Weatherbee  answered  sadly,  "she  is 
dead." 

Weatherbee  left  the  room  without  knowing 
of  the  pain  his  speech  caused  Rosamond  or  see- 
ing her  face  which  turned  a  deathly  pale  as  she 
staggered  and  sank  into  the  chair,  for  the 
heavy  dining  room  doors  had  rolled  open  be- 
fore he  had  quite  finished  speaking  and  he  be- 
held the  gorgeously  spread  table  and  the  hand- 
somely gowned  ladies  laughing  and  chatting 
and  he  rushed  into  the  hall,  seized  his  hat  and 
dodged  his  way  down  Fifth  Avenue  studying 
the  experience  which  he  was  grateful  for. 

Rosamond  opened  her  eyes  to  find  Miss 
Butterwing  kneeling  at  her  side  and  pressing 
her  hand  tenderly. 

"Alice,  I  want  to  go  to  my  room,"  she  sighed 
as  she  struggled  to  her  feet. 

After  Miss  Butterwing  had  left  Rosamond 
in  her  room  with  her  mother,  she  entered  the 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        147 

dining  room,  delivered  Rosamond's  message  to 
the  girls,  explaining  her  absence,  and  ordered 
luncheon  served. 

At  Helen's  suggestion,  she  and  Thisby  were 
invited  to  fill  the  vacant  chairs,  and  he  remem- 
bered all  of  his  favorite  jokes  which  everyone 
was  familiar  with,  and  Helen  prompted  him 
accurately  whenever  his  enthusiasm  caused 
him  to  omit  even  a  single  word. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"THIS  is  Saturday— today  is  the  day,"  War- 
ner whispered  to  himself  as  he  slowly  and  un- 
consciously slid  his  feet  along  the  hot  stone 
walk  of  Twenty-ninth  Street.  He  held  his 
cane  loosely  in  his  hand  and  tapped  it  before 
him  carelessly.  The  noise  of  the  tapping 
sounded  lonely  to  him.  The  voice  of  the 
huckster  seemed  to  have  a  sad,  muffled,  disap- 
pointing ring  to  it.  He  heard  no  children 
laughing  or  singing  to  the  tune  of  the  hurdy- 
gurdy.  The  street  seemed  quieter  and  more 
lifeless  than  it  had  ever  seemed  before. 

"I  hope  it  is  my  imagination,"  and  he 
trudged  along  mechanically  counting  the  steps 
he  had  taken  since  he  turned  the  corner. 

Wartle  greeted  him  with  an  unwelcome 
grunt  when  he  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  be- 
fore Warner  was  far  enough  away  to  prevent 
its  edge  from  striking  his  arm.  The  creaking 
of  the  old  stairs  sounded  differently  to  him.  It 
was  an  unwelcome  sound  that  seemed  to  say 
good-bye  instead  of  good-morning. 

148 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        149 

He  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  in  the  little 
attic  room  holding  on  to  the  banister  waiting 
for  a  familiar  voice  to  welcome  him,  but  no 
sound  came. 

"John,"  he  called  in  a  low  tone,  but  there  was 
no  answer  and  he  felt  his  way  to  the  little 
rocker  that  squeaked  a  lonely  welcome  when 
his  heavy  figure  sank  between  its  broken  arms. 

He  bent  forward  and  listened  eagerly  to  the 
sound  of  the  approaching  steps  on  the  stairs, 
but  leaned  back  in  disappointment  when  he 
recognized  Mrs.  Murray's  breathless  "Phe-e-u" 
as  she  reached  the  top  step. 

"Is  Mr.  Weatherbee  here?"  she  grunted 
when  she  looked  about  the  room,  still  hanging 
onto  the  banister. 

"No,"  Warner  answered  politely. 

"He's  always  out  whin  his  creditors  call," 
she  snarled. 

"I'll  tell  him  you  called,"  Warner  answered 
quickly,  hoping  she  would  give  him  the  oppor- 
tunity by  not  waiting. 

"Thank  ye  fer  yer  koind  offer,  but  Oi'll  wait 
fer  him,"  and  she  seated  herself  on  the  bed- 
couch. 


150       THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Faith  an'  ye'er  gittin'  moighty  ginerous  in 
yer  old  age,"  and  she  glared  at  him  sarcasti- 
cally. "Weatherbee'll  pay  me  what  he  owes 
me  today  er  Oi'll  know  the  raison  why,"  she 
continued  in  a  rasping  tone. 

"Mr.  Weatherbee  will  pay  you  every  cent  he 
owes  you,"  Warner  replied  quietly,  after  a 
short  silence. 

"Well,  why  don't  he  do  it?"  she  snapped. 

"Because  he  hasn't  the  money." 

"Why  don't  he  go  to  work  an'  earn  it?"  she 
shouted  as  she  hastened  to  the  back  of  his  chair 
and  leaned  over  his  shoulder. 

"He'll  pay  me  what  he  owes  me,  and  he'll 
pay  what  he  owes  fer  this  room  today,  or  out 
he  goes,"  and  she  tapped  Warner  on  the  shoul- 
der roughly  with  her  forefinger  as  she  uttered 
each  word.  "It  may  surprise  ye  to  know  that 
Oi  have  somethin'  to  say  in  this  house  now." 

"Now,"  Warner  grunted  humorously.  "I 
never  knew  you  to  be  stuck  for  anything  to  say 
in  this  house  yet,  Mrs.  Murray." 

"Well,  Oi'll  have  more  to  say,"  she  retorted. 
"And  Oi'll  not  let  thim  impose  on  poor  Mr. 
Wartle  anny  longer,  he's  too  ginerous." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        151 

Warner  drew  his  open  hand  across  his 
mouth  to  hide  his  smile  when  he  thought  of 
Wartle's  generosity.  It  was  no  easy  task  to 
carry  his  heavy  figure  down  and  up  four  flights 
of  stairs,  but  it  pained  him  to  listen  to  the  slurs 
which  were  being  thrown  at  Weatherbee,  so 
he  decided  to  wait  on  the  street  by  counting 
his  steps  to  the  corner  and  back. 

Wartle's  little,  fat  figure  met  him  at  the 
stairs  and  his  biting  question  to  Warner  of 
"His  Weatherbee  hin?"  was  answered  in  a 
taunting  tone  by  Mrs.  Murray.  "I  guess  he's 
hoidin'  some  place." 

"When  Mr.  Weatherbee  comes  in,  will  you 
please  tell  him  I'll  be  back?"  Warner  requested 
srently. 

'  "Yis,  an'  we'll  tell  'im  a  few  other  things," 
Mrs.  Murray  yelled. 

"Han'  you'd  better  'urry  back  hif  you  want 
to  see  'im,"  and  Wartle  hung  his  bald,  shiny 
head  down  over  the  banister  and  talked  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  on  the  ground  floor.  "Fur 
hif  'e  don't  pay  what  'e  howes  'e  don't  sleep  hin 
this  room  tonight."  He  straightened  his  little, 
round  figure,  turned  and  gazed  at  Mrs.  Murray 


152        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

with  a  broad  grin.  "Hi  got  tired  hof  waitin' 
for  you  to  come  down  stairs,  so  Hi  come  hup," 
and  his  grin  broadened  until  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  almost  touched  his  large  ears,  when 
Mrs.  Murray  remarked  in  a  satisfied  tone:  "Ye 
look  a  hundred  years  younger  with  thim  hair 
mattresses  off  the  soides  of  yer  face,"  and 
Wartle  informed  her  with  much  pride  that  he 
was  learning  to  shave  himself  better  than  a 
regular  barber. 

"Do  you  know  that  when  Hi  shaved  my- 
self this  mornhin'  Hi  honly  cut  my  face 
hin  four  places  and  one  place  was  honly 
ha  scratch,"  and  he  touched  each  of  the  three 
pieces  of  sticking  plaster  gently  with  the  end  of 
his  finger. 

"Does  Weatherbee  own  annything  in  this 
room?"  Mrs.  Murray  snapped,  as  she  glanced 
around  the  room  carefully  as  if  she  were  taking 
an  inventory  of  its  contents. 

'  'E  howns  the  trimmin's,  but  Hi  howns  the 
bed." 

"Does  he  own  that  book-box?"  and  she 
pointed  to  the  quaint  little  library  with  its  open 
doors  and  empty  shelves. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        153 

"Yes,"  Wartle  replied  as  he  examined  it 
closely  as  if  studying  its  value. 

"Are  ye  goin'  to  let  'im  take  it  away?" 

"Hi'm  not — 'e  don't  take  ha  bloomin'  thing 
hout  hof  this  'ouse  till  'e  pays  hevery  cent  'e 
howes  me." 

"Ye're  roight  fer  once  in  yer  loife.  Did  ye 
hire  the  chambermaid  yit?" 

"Hi  did,  han'  she's  coming  Monday  morn- 
ing." 

"Is  she  Irish?"   Mrs.  Murray  asked  quickly. 

"No,  she's  French." 

"Thim  Frinch  fairies  are  dangerous." 

"Why?"  Wartle  murmured  in  a  frightened 
whisper. 

"They  have  such  bad  timpers,  they're  apt  to 
stick  ye  wid  a  knoife." 

"She  seems  tame." 

"Oi  think  Oi'll  have  her  move  this  bid  down 
to  the  second  floor  front  and  bring  the  bid  in 
there  up  here.  This  is  a  better  bid  than  it  is." 

"Hi'll  tell  'er." 

"Ye'll  do  nothin'  of  the  kind— Oi'll  tell  her 
meself,  an'  ye'll  have  nothin'  to  say  about  the 
runnin'  of  this  house.  Oi'll  'tend  to  that  me- 


154        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

self,  it's  a  woif  s  duty  to  take  charge  of  the 
house." 

Wartle  nodded  his  head  slowly  and  an- 
swered in  a  low  feeble  tone,  "Very  well,  my 
dear." 

"Have  ye  had  the  things  made  out  in  moi 
name?" 

"They  har  made  hout  hand  hin  my  lawyer's 
'and,  hand  Vll  give  them  to  you  the  day  we're 
married." 

"Oi  must  have  thim  first,"  and  she  pointed  a 
warning  finger  at  him  as  she  spoke. 

"Hi'll  take  you  hup  to  'is  hoffice  hand  let  you 
read  them — they  hare  to  be  your  wedding  pres- 
ent from  me." 

"Have  ye  got  the  ring  yit?" 

Wartle  rubbed  his  fat  hands  together  nerv- 
ously for  a  few  seconds  before  he  spoke. 

"Hi  thought  you  could  wear  the  ring  your 
first  'usband  gave  you?"  and  he  tried  to  occupy 
his  guilty  mind  by  moistening  the  end  of  his 
finger  on  his  tongue  and  wiping  an  imaginary 
spot  from  the  corner  of  his  waistcoat,  while  he 
waited  for  Mrs.  Murray's  reply  and  hoped  that 
she  would  look  upon  the  idea  from  an  economi- 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        155 

cal  standpoint  and  consent  to  his  suggestion, 
but  Mrs.  Murray  looked  at  him  with  contempt 
for  a  moment,  which  seemed  like  an  hour  to 
Wartle,  who  was  still  rubbing  his  waistcoat 
with  his  finger  and  waiting  painfully  for  her 
reply. 

"Not  on  yer  loife,"  she  grunted,  "no  sickon- 
hand  widdin'  rings  fer  me." 

"Very  well,  my  dear,"  he  sighed,  "Hi'll  get 
hit  this  hafternoon." 

"Well,  ye'd  better  be  gittin'  a  hustle  on  ye, 
if  we're  goin'  to  be  married  Sunday.  Have 
ye  saw  about  havin'  the  house  dicorated?" 

"Yes,  Hi  done  just  has  you  told  me." 

"Remimber,  Oi  want  the  main  entrance  and 
the  front  parlor  smothered  in  shamrocks — this 
is  an  Irish  weddin',  and  if  Oi  see  an  English 
flower  sittin'  in  moy  house,  Oi'll  fling  it  out  the 
windey." 

"Hi  hordered  nothing  but  Hirish  sham- 
rocks." 

"And  none  of  yer  Johnnie-Bull  frinds  are  to 
be  here.  Oi've  asked  Mr.  McCarthy,  a  frind  of 
moine,  to  stand  up  wid  ye  and  his  sister  is  goin' 
to  stand  up  wid  me,  and  OiVe  invoited  about 


156        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

fifty  of  moy  friends  and  Oi'll  show  ye  a  toime 
ye'll  be  proud  of." 

"Who  his  McCarthy?"  Wartle  inquired 
meekly. 

"He's  a  cab  droiver,"  Mrs.  Murray  answered 
with  much  pride — "and  owns  his  own  cab. 
He's  a  foine  man,  and  he's  goin'  to  bring  a  lot 
of  his  frinds." 

Wartle  didn't  disturb  any  of  the  sticking 
plaster  on  his  face  by  laughing  over  the  unex- 
pected news  that  Mr.  McCarthy  was  to  stand 
up  with  him  and  bring  all  of  his  friends.  His 
little  hands  found  their  way  behind  his  back 
and  squeezed  each  other  tightly,  his  head  went 
down  slowly  until  his  chin  was  buried  in  the 
rolls  of  flesh  on  his  neck.  He  said  nothing,  but 
sat  on  the  bed-couch  and  wondered  if  they 
would  drink  any  strong  drink  or  get  noisy  or 
rough. 

"Carry  me  up  on  your  back,  will  you,  Dad?" 
Jack  requested  as  he  hung  onto  the  tail  of  his 
father's  coat  and  tried  to  hold  him  back  from 
going  upstairs  unless  he  granted  his  coaxing 
demand,  and  Weatherbee  took  him  by  the  arms 
and  swung  him  over  his  shoulder  and  mounted 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        157 

the  stairs  in  time  to  Jack's  singing,  "Rub-dub- 
dub,  dub,  dub,"  which  was  his  usual  habit  every 
time  he  ascended  the  stairs. 

"Pound  your  feet  hard  on  the  stairs,  Dad, 
when  I  say  rub-dub-dub." 

"I  mustn't,  it  makes  too  much  noise." 

"Well,  pound  them  just  a  little,"  and  Weath- 
erbee  satisfied  him  by  making  believe  he  was 
hitting  the  steps  heavily,  though  he  made  no 
noise. 

"There  you  are,"  and  he  stooped  over  and  let 
Jack  climb  over  his  head  onto  the  floor. 

Weatherbee  removed  his  hat  and  greeted 
Mrs.  Murray  and  Wartle  politely,  but  received 
no  reply.  Jack  pulled  his  little,  torn  straw  hat 
from  his  head,  bowed  to  Mrs.  Murray,  saying: 
"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Murray,"  then  looked 
at  his  father  with  a  half-guilty  smile  and 
giggled. 

"Hello,  Wartie."  Weatherbee  placed  his 
hand  over  the  child's  mouth  gently  and  tried  to 
speak  severely,  though  it  was  an  effort  to  con- 
ceal the  fact  that  he  was  amused  at  Wartle, 
who  jumped  to  his  feet  and  looked  indignantly 
at  Jack. 


158       THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Say  'How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Wartle?'  "  and  he 
removed  his  hand  from  his  mouth  and  placed 
it  on  his  head. 

Jack  repeated  the  words,  "How  do  you  do?" 
and  hesitated  as  he  looked  up  at  his  father  with 
a  daring  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Mr.  Wartle,"  Weatherbee  demanded  stern- 
ly and  Jack  obeyed  by  bowing  and  emphasiz- 
ing "Mr."  with  all  the  voice  he  could  use. 
"Dad,  may  I  go  down  and  find  the  cat?" 

"If  you  don't  make  a  noise." 

And  he  ran  downstairs  calling  "Kitty"  in  a 
low,  muffled  tone. 

Weatherbee  hung  Jack's  hat  in  the  small 
closet,  while  Mrs.  Murray  and  Wartle  sat  side 
by  side  on  the  edge  of  the  bed-couch  exchang- 
ing glances  which  seemed  to  ask,  "Shall  I  light 
on  him  first,  or  will  you?"  but  Wartle  broke 
the  silence  as  Weatherbee  returned  from  the 
closet. 

"Hi  want  to  know  what  you  hare  going  to  do 
habout  the  rent?" 

"And  Oi  want  what  ye  owe  me,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Murray  before  Weatherbee  had  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  answer  Wartle's  perplexing  question. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        159 

Weatherbee  stood  before  his  two  creditors 
and  spoke  kindly.  "Mrs.  Murray,  I  am  very 
sorry  that  I  can't  pay  you  now,  but  I  hope  to 
be  able  to  pay  you  very  soon.  You  have  more 
than  earned  every  cent  I  owe  you  and  I'm 
sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting  so  long  and  you 
shall  be  the  very  first  one  I  shall  pay." 

"Whin?"  she  snapped. 

"I  can't  say  now — just — when.  I  don't  want 
to  make  a  promise  and  have  to  break  it,  though 
I  hope  for  your  sake  as  well  as  for  my  own 
that  it  will  be  very  soon." 

"Hand  what  habout  me?"  Wartle  grunted 
sarcastically. 

"I'm  going  to  pay  you  also,  Mr.  Wartle,  but 
not  until  I  pay  Mrs.  Murray,  for  she  needs  the 
money  more  than  you  do  and  I'm  going  to  pay 
her  first." 

"Hif  you  can't  pay  me  today,  Mr.  Weather- 
bee,  you  must  get  hout  hof  this  'ouse  this 
hafternoon." 

Weatherbee  was  not  in  a  jesting  mood,  but 
the  picture  of  Wartle  and  Mrs.  Murray  sitting 
side  by  side  on  the  edge  of  the  couch  as  if  they 
had  been  blown  up  with  dignity,  caused  his 


160        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

humor  to  unconsciously  bubble  up  through  his 
seriousness. 

"Not  this  afternoon,  Mr.  Wartle?"  and  he 
forced  a  note  of  surprise  into  his  voice  that 
concealed  the  fact  that  he  had  already  prepared 
to  leave. 

"This  hafternoon,"  Wartle  replied  emphati- 
cally. "Hand  hif  you  don't  get  hout,  Hi'll  call 
han  hofficer,"  and  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Murray, 
who  nodded  her  head  and  gave  him  an  encour- 
aging wink. 

"Oh,  well,"  Weatherbee  replied  dryly,  "if 
you're  going  to  call  an  officer,  I'll  get  out  with- 
out righting,  just  as  soon  as  I  get  my  things  to- 
gether." 

"You  mustn't  take  hanything  that  his  hin 
this  room  hout.  What's  'ere  belongs  to  me 
huntil  you  pay  me  my  rent.  You  can  take  the 
boy's  clothes  hand  that  his  hall,  but  hif  you 
hattempt  to  take  hanything  helse,  Hi'll  'ave 
you  harrested,"  and  he  rose  to  his  feet  glaring 
at  Weatherbee,  and  his  little  eyes  were  dancing 
with  nervous  anger. 

Weatherbee  gazed  at  him  several  seconds, 
and  his  voice  fell  to  a  kindly,  earnest,  sympa- 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        161 

thetic  key.  "That  won't  be  necessary,  Mr. 
Wartle,  I  don't  want  to  take  anything  but  the 
baby's  clothes  and  my  hat."  Weatherbee 
glanced  about  the  room  at  the  little  trinkets  he 
had  gathered  from  time  to  time.  "They  are  of 
no  value  to  anyone  but  me,"  he  thought  to  him- 
self, "if  they  were  Uncle  would  have  them." 

"Ye've  scared  him  stiff,"  Mrs.  Murray 
whispered  into  Wartle's  ear  and  they  watched 
Weatherbee  as  he  stood  with  his  back  toward 
them  gazing  at  a  small  pencil  drawing. 

"Mr.  Wartle,  these  pictures  were  given  to 
me  by  a  friend.  Will  you  ask  whoever  takes 
the  room  to  be  careful  of  them?" 

"You  can  'ave  them  has  soon  has  you  pay 
your  rent,"  and  he  walked  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs  followed  by  Mrs.  Murray,  who  paused 
on  the  top  step  long  enough  to  say  with  a  great 
deal  of  authority: 

"Oi'll  take  care  of  thim.  Ye  know  Oi'm  to 
be  Mrs.  Wartle  tomorrow  afternoon,"  and 
she  followed  Wartle  down  the  stairs  proudly. 

"I  wish  you  every  happiness,  Mrs.  Murray," 
Weatherbee  yelled  in  a  kind  voice  as  he  leaned 
over  the  banister. 


162        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Good-bye,"  she  answered,  and  Wartle 
called  back  in  a  high,  sarcastic  squeak:  "Hi 
hexpect  you  to  get  right  hout,  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee." 

"I'll  get  right  out,  Mr.  Wartle,"  Weather- 
bee  answered  in  a  gentle  promising  tone. 

He  walked  to  the  little  window,  pulled  the 
top  sash  down,  leaned  his  elbows  on  its  edge, 
looked  up  into  the  blue,  saw  two  soft,  brown 
eyes,  heard  a  gentle  sincere  voice  saying:  "In 
spite  of  anything  that  has  happened  between 
you  and  my  father,  I  would  like  to  have  you  re- 
main— the  others  won't  know,"  and  he  slapped 
his  hard  luck  in  the  face  with  a  pleasant  smile. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEN  Weatherbee  heard  Warner  return- 
ing he  met  him  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  with  a 
rugged  slap  on  the  back. 

"Hello,  Warner,"  he  said  in  a  jolly  tone,  but 
Warner  only  returned  a  gloomy  "Hello,  John," 
and  leaned  against  the  banister  and  heaved  a 
deep  sigh.  He  knew  Weatherbee's  voice  too 
well  not  to  recognize  the  fictitious  note  of 
cheerfulness  he  had  forced  into  it  to  cover  the 
sad  ones  which,  in  spite  of  his  effort,  bubbled 
up  through  the  happy  ones  often  enough  to 
betray  the  fact  that  he  was  not  acting. 

"He  is  doing  what  I  knew  he  would  do," 
Warner  thought  to  himself.  "He  is  smiling 
through  the  crack  in  his  heart,  a  crack  big 
enough  to  walk  through." 

Warner's  opinion  of  Weatherbee  as  an  au- 
thor was  still  on  the  same  pedestal  he  had 
placed  it  on  the  first  time  he  had  heard  his 
novels  read,  and  he  was  positive  in  his  own 
mind  that  they  would  be  published  and  make 
him  not  only  famous,  but  rich.  He  had  used 

163 


164        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

the  novels  as  an  argument  of  hope  for  so  many 
months  that  Weatherbee  laughed  every  time 
he  referred  to  them  and  treated  the  subject  as 
a  joke.  He  sat  on  the  banister,  leaning  for- 
ward, with  both  hands  resting  on  the  handle  of 
his  cane.  He  searched  for  something  pleasant 
to  say,  but  found  nothing,  though  his  heavy 
lips  moved  as  he  said  .to  himself:  "Those 
novels  will  be  published  some  day,  I'm  sure  of 
it.  I'm  positive  of  it." 

Weatherbee  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room, 
his  weight  rested  on  one  leg,  his  right  hand 
hung  on  his  left  arm  and  his  chin  on  the 
knuckles  of  the  left  hand.  He  studied  Warner 
carefully.  He  had  known  him  for  many  years 
and  this  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen 
him  bow  to  hard  luck.  He  had  always  tickled 
it  under  the  chin  and  sent  it  on  its  way  with  a 
smile.  He  knew  Warner  was  not  thinking  of 
himself,  and  Weatherbee  nodded  his  head  in 
silent  gratitude  for  the  love  that  Warner's  sad 
heart  was  dealing  out  to  him  in  aching  throbs. 

"If  they  would  stand  Rosamond  Kent  out  on 
the  curb,  I  wouldn't  take  the  Kent  mansion  and 
all  its  contents  for  his  friendship,"  Weatherbee 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        165 

said  to  himself,  and  he  walked  over  and  struck 
Warner  a  blow  on  the  shoulder  with  the  flat  of 
his  hand  that  removed  his  hat  and  sent  it  to  the 
floor. 

"Cheer  up,  Warner,"  he  yelled  in  a  loud, 
cheerful  voice  as  he  picked  up  the  black  slouch 
hat  and  drew  it  down  on  the  back  of  Warner's 
head  until  it  almost  covered  his  ears. 

"I  can't,  John,  I  can't." 

"You  have  got  to,"  Weatherbee  growled  in 
a  plucky  tone.  "Do  you  remember  what  you 
said  the  other  day  about  the  old  robin  in  Cen- 
tral Park,  that  sings  for  you  and  how  happy  it 
made  you,  and  how  it  gets  jealous  when  the 
carriages  go  by  and  make  a  noise,  do  you  re- 
member? Well,  I  want  you  to  go  up  there  and 
listen  to  that  robin  sing  and  be  happy  and  for- 
get me  and  my  troubles." 

"I  can't,  John,  I  can't." 

"You  must,"  and  Weatherbee's  voice  trem- 
bled with  tenacity.  "Go  up  there  and  smell 
the  green  and  hear  the  children  play  and  forget 
me.  Warner,  you  have  been  a  great  help  to  me 
— a  real  friend — and  I  love  you  for  it.  We've 
had  some  good  times  together  in  the  old  room 


166        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

here,  and  we'll  have  many  more.  You  know 
you  have  always  said  that  I'd  be  worth  a  million 
dollars  some  day — and  we  have  all  that  to  look 
forward  to,  and  when  it  arrives  we'll  have  all 
those  books  we've  talked  about,  and  I'll  read 
for  you;  can  you  see  that  library  we  are  going 
to  have  some  day?  Can  you  see  it,  Warner? 
Can  you  see  it?" 

"I  can't  see  anything  but  you,  without  a  cent 
and  no  place  to  go,"  and  his  heavy  voice  tried 
to  shake  the  words  out  in  a  firm  tone,  but  each 
word  seemed  to  stick  to  his  tongue  and  stumble 
over  his  thick  lips  in  separate  syllables. 

Weatherbee  saw  that  his  grief  had  penetrat- 
ed his  heart  and  was  clinging  to  its  core.  He 
placed  his  hand  on  Warner's  shoulder  and 
watched  the  blind  eyes  that  his  heart  was  slow- 
ly pumping  tears  into. 

"Why,  Warner,  you  are  going  back  on  your 
own  advice — I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  and  the 
two  men  stood  for  many  minutes  without 
speaking. 

Warner  had  wanted  to  ask  a  question,  but 
he  hesitated  in  fear  of  the  answer,  and  he  start- 
ed it  several  times  before  he  finished  it.  "What 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        167 

are  you  going  to  do  with  little  Jack  ?"  He  tried 
to  hold  his  voice  in  a  firm  key,  but  it  shook  and 
the  tones  sounded  as  if  they  had  been  beaten 
and  hammered  by  a  throbbing  heart. 

"You  know,  Warner,  Jack  always  comes 
first.  I  have  prepared  for  him.  He  goes  over 
to  Mrs.  Turner's." 

The  words  sounded  like  the  notes  of  an  old, 
welcome  song  to  Warner's  ears,  and  they 
seemed  to  move  and  try  to  show  their  apprecia- 
tion. "And  you,  John,  are  you  going  there, 
too?" 

"No,"  Weatherbee  replied  cheerfully,  "but 
Jack  is  fixed." 

"Why  couldn't  you  go  there,  John?"  and  his 
excited  hand  fumbled  about  until  it  rested  on 
Weatherbee's  shoulder. 

"Her  house  is  full,  Warner.  Every  room  is 
taken.  She  is  going  to  take  Jack  in  with  her. 
I  didn't  explain  the  situation.  I  told  her  that 
I  was  going  away  on  business  and  asked  her  to 
take  care  of  Jack  while  I  was  gone." 

Warner  sank  back  against  the  banister;  his 
right  hand  found  its  way  to  the  handle  of  his 
cane  and  gripped  it  tightly. 


168        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"What  about  you,  Warner?  I'm  due  up  at 
your  house  with  the  room  rent,  and  I'm 
afraid  I  won't  be  there  when  your  landlord 
calls  the  roll." 

"O,  don't  think  of  me — damn  it — I  need  an 
airing,  anyway,"  Warner  answered  gruffly, 
and  he  gave  the  rim  of  his  hat  a  jerk  that 
brought  it  down  until  it  almost  touched  his 
nose. 

"When  am  I  going  to  see  you,  John  ?" 

"I'll  see  you  tonight/' 

"Where?" 

"I'll  meet  you  at  the  Seventy-second  Street 
entrance  of  Central  Park  West." 

"What  time?" 

"At  seven  o'clock." 

Warner  felt  his  way  to  the  top  step  by  run- 
ning his  hand  along  the  edge  of  the  banister. 

"And  we'll  sit  in  the  park  and  talk  about 
Miss  Kent." 

"All  right,  Warner,"  and  he  patted  him  on 
the  shoulder  affectionately. 

"When  you  came  home  and  told  me  what  a 
good  time  you  had  at  that  luncheon,  I  was  as 
happy  as  if  I  had  been  there." 

"You  were  happier,  Warner." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        169 

"John,  they  will  be  giving  you  another  some 
day,  you  see  if  they  don't." 

He  stood  on  the  top  step  and  tried  to  push 
his  feet  down  the  old  stairs  for  the  last  time, 
but  they  seemed  to  balk  and  felt  as  if  they  were 
glued  in  their  tracks. 

Weatherbee's  face  wrinkled  into  a  sad  grin 
as  he  watched  him  rest  his  elbow  on  the  banis- 
ter and  lay  his  cheek  in  the  palm  of  his  hand 
and  dream  until  he  was  awakened  by  Jack's 
playful  voice  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Warner?"  he  yelled  as 
he  ran  up  the  steps  on  his  hands  and  feet. 

"How  do  you  do,  sir?    How  are  you  today?" 

"Pretty  well,  thank  you.  Stand  there,  Mr. 
Warner,  and  let  me  go  between  your  legs,"  and 
he  formed  a  bridge  for  Jack  to  go  under. 

"Have  you  a  kiss  for  Uncle  Warner?" 

"You  bet!"  and  he  wrapped  his  little  arms 
around  Warner's  neck  and  kissed  him  many 
times. 

"And  you  are  going  to  be  a  big,  brave  boy 
while  your  dad's  away,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


170        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Just  one  more  kiss,"  and  the  child  kissed 
him  several  times. 

"Good-bye — good-bye,  John.  Seven  o'clock 
tonight,"  he  called  back  in  a  broken  tone  from 
the  floor  below. 

"At  the  Seventy-second  Street  entrance," 
Weatherbee  yelled  cheerfully. 

Warner  leaned  his  heavy  figure  against  the 
wall  when  he  reached  the  lower  floor  and  dried 
his  eyes  with  the  ends  of  his  fingers;  then 
counted  his  steps  to  the  corner.  He  ran  the 
end  of  his  cane  along  the  edge  of  the  curb  and 
stood  listening  to  the  clanging  of  the  am- 
bulance bell. 

"I  wish  I  was  in  it,"  he  thought  to  himself  as 
he  tapped  his  way  to  the  middle  of  the  street 
and  an  officer  jerked  him  from  in  front  of  a 
street  car  and  pushed  him  roughly  to  the  oppo- 
site curb.  He  followed  his  cane  to  the  Seventy- 
second  Street  en-trance  of  Central  Park  and 
sank  on  a  bench  and  listened  patiently.  He 
heard  the  puffing  of  the  motor  cars,  the  falling 
of  the  horse's  iron  shoes  on  the  pavement.  He 
heard  the  officer's  surly  voice  yell,  "keep  to  the 
right,"  but  the  children's  playground  at  his 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        171 

back  was  deserted.  The  nurses  had  watched 
the  black  clouds  gathering  and  had  taken  the 
little  ones  home.  The  thunder  mumbled  a 
word  of  warning  to  the  birds  and  they  bent 
their  heads  and  squatted  under  the  leaves  and 
waited  for  the  rair^,  and  Warner  listened  and 
sighed — and  listened, — but  his  robin  didn't 
sing. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

JACK  sat  on  the  floor  in  the  center  of  the 
room  fussing  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and 
Weatherbee  watched  him  for  some  time,  then 
inquired  playfully  into  the  cause  of  the  long 
silence. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  asked,  as  he 
looked  down  over  the  child's  head. 

"Look  where  the  cat  scratched  me,"  he  re- 
plied, holding  his  hand  up  above  his  curls. 

"What  were  you  doing  to  the  cat?" 

"Just  playing  with  it." 

"Weren't  you  squeezing  its  stomach  to  make 
it  squeal?" 

"I  just  squeezed  it  a  little  tiny  bit." 

"Don't  pinch  it,  that  will  irritate  it  and  make 
it  sore." 

"I'm  squeezing  it  to  make  the  blood  come." 

But  the  cat  had  only  drawn  his  claw  gently 
across  the  back  of  his  little,  soiled  hand  to 
frighten  him  and  had  left  nothing  but  a  red 
mark,  though  he  squeezed  and  pinched  it  to 

172 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        173 

draw  the  blood  which  would  enable  him  to 
heroically  boast  of  a  real  wound. 

Weatherbee  spread  an  old  newspaper  on  the 
table  and  tried  hard  for  Jack's  benefit  to  hum 
the  child's  favorite  air  of  "There  Was- an  Old 
Man  and  He  Had  a  Wooden  Leg,"  while  he 
gathered  up  his  little  gingham  dresses  and 
what  few  pieces  of  clothing  he  had  and  placed 
them  on  the  table. 

"Are  we  going  away,  Dad?"  he  yelled  in  a 
tone  of  wild  excitement  as  he  jumped  to  his 
feet  and  ran  to  the  table  when  he  saw  his  father 
folding  up  his  dress. 

"Yes,  we  are  going  away." 

"I  know  where — I  know  where,"  and  he 
jumped  up  and  down  clapping  his  hands  to- 
gether. 

"Where?"  Weatherbee  asked  in  a  teasing, 
playful  voice. 

And  Jack  continued  his  clapping  and  jump- 
ing as  he  sang,  "Camping— camping— camp- 
ing." 

"Some  day,"  Weatherbee  sang  back  between 
jumps,  "but  not  today,"  and  Jack's  eyes  opened 
wide  as  he  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  tableland 
asked,  "Where  are  we  going  today,  Dad?" 


174        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"You  are  going — Dad  can't  go.  Dad  has  got 
to  go  away  on  business,"  and  he  studied  the 
child's  face  carefully  and  he  watched  the  ex- 
pression of  joy  change  to  disappointment. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  go  if  you  can't  go, 
dad." 

"But  dad  is  going  to  take  you  there." 

"And  leave  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  dad." 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  know  where  you  are  go- 
ing. You  will  like  this  place." 

"No,  I  won't." 

"Yes,  you  will — you  are  going  to  Mrs. 
Turner's." 

"Where  are  you  going,  dad?" 

"I  don't  know — just  yet." 

"Will  you  be  gone  long?" 

"Not  very,  I  hope,"  and  the  humor  of  the 
remark  afforded  him  a  pleasant  smile. 

Jack  turned  his  back  and  slowly  drifted 
away  from  the  table,  nervously  biting  the  nail 
of  his  thumb.  His  little  head  hung  forward 
until  his  curls  covered  his  cheeks. 

The  smile  left  Weatherbee's  face  and  the 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        175 

corners  of  his  mouth  twitched  while  he  gazed 
at  the  little  figure  and  wondered  if  it  would 
stand  up  and  face  the  separation  bravely.  He 
tried  to  think  of  some  method  he  could  use  to 
keep  him  cheerful,  but  he  could  find  no  truthful 
one,  and  the  few  seconds  of  silence  seemed  like 
years  to  Weatherbee  and  he  tried  in  vain  to 
think  of  something  pleasant  to  say. 

Jack  turned,  placed  his  little  hands  behind 
his  back  and  looked  into  his  father's  eyes  re- 
proachfully and  spoke  in  a  low,  reprimanding 
tone.  "Dad,  are  you  going  to  camp  out  with- 
out me?" 

He  stood  Jack  on  the  table  and  squeezed  his 
tiny  hands  sympathetically  and  studied  the 
injured  expression  in  the  child's  eyes. 

"Do  you  think  dad  would  go  on  a  pleasure 
trip  without  you?" 

"You  always  tell  me  every  night  in  bed  that 
you  will  never,  never  leave  me." 

"Don't  ask  dad  why  he  doesn't  take  you.  If 
it  were  possible  to  take  you  he  would,  but  he 
can't,  he  just  can't,"  and  he  unconsciously 
tightened  his  fingers  around  Jack's  hands  until 
he  pulled  them  away  with  an  "ouch." 


176       THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Will  I  have  to  stay  at  Mrs.  Turner's  all 
night?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  dad,  I  don't  want  to  go !"  and  he  fell  on 
Weatherbee's  shoulder  and  wound  his  arms 
around  his  neck  tightly. 

"Stand  up  here,"  and  Weatherbee  stood  him 
back  on  the  table  and  unwound  his  arms 
from  his  neck.  "Look  at  me,"  and  he  placed 
his  finger  under  his  chubby  chin  and  pulled  his 
little  face  up  until  their  eyes  met.  "This  isn't 
Jack  Weatherbee  the  great  big  man  I  know, 
is  it?" 

"Ye-as  it  is!"  he  cried  in  a  sobbing  voice  as 
he  threw  himself  back  on  his  father's  shoulder, 
clinging  to  his  neck  and  winding  his  legs 
around  his  waist. 

Weatherbee  leaned  over  and  laid  him  on  the 
table,  removed  his  arms  from  about  his  neck, 
held  his  little  hands  tightly  and  looked  down 
into  his  eyes,  which  were  flooded  with  tears. 
"Well,  then,  brace  up  and  be  a  big  man,  be  a 
great  big  man  and  help  dad — you  want  to  help 
me,  don't  you?" 

"Ye-as,"  he  sobbed. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        177 

"I  know  you  do  and  you  are  going  to  help 
him.  Now,  dad  must  go  away  for  a  few  days- 
he  doesn't  want  to  go,  but  he  must — he's  got  to 
go.  It  just  breaks  his  heart  to  go,  but  he  must 
go,  he  can't  help  it,  and  you  are  going  to  help 
him,  you  are  going  to  be  a  great,  big,  brave 
man  and  help  him;  then  when  you  get  tall  like 
me,  I'll  tell  you  what  a  brave  little  boy  you 
were  when  you  were  small  and  how  you  went 
to  Mrs.  Turner's  and  stayed  when  dad  had  to 
go  away  on  business,  and  then  I'll  tell  you 
where  I  went  and  what  I  did  and  how  I  missed 
you,  and  how  I  would  sit  up  nights  and  think 
of  you  and  wish  I  had  you  in  my  arms,  and  you 
will  tell  me  what  you  did  while  I  was  away  and 
how  you  missed  me  and  all  about  the  people 
you  met  at  Mrs.  Turner's." 

"And  will  you  tell  me  all  about  the  men  you 
meet  where  you  are  going,  and  where  you 
lived?  Are  you  going  to  a  hotel,  dad?" 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  and  all  about  the 
hotel  where  I  lived,  where  I  slept  every  night, 
whom  I  met,  and  we'll  talk  it  all  over  and  you'll 
be  so  happy  and  I'll  be  happy,"  and  he  raised 


178        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Jack  to  his  feet,  wrapped  him  in  his  arms  and 
held  him  until  Wartle's  sarcastic  voice  was 
heard  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"This  is  the  room,  sir,"  he  remarked  in  a 
loud  tone,  and  he  threw  a  warning  glance  at 
Weatherbee.  "Three  dollars  ha  week,  hall  fur- 
nished just  has  hit  his." 

The  young  man  of  foreign  appearance 
glanced  about  the  room  quickly  and  inquired  in 
a  thick,  German  accent  if  he  could  move  in  this 
afternoon. 

"Whenever  you  hare  ready,  sir,"  Wartle  an- 
swered quickly,  with  his  eyes  still  fastened  on 
Weatherbee. 

"All  right,  I  get  my  thinks  and  moof  in  dis 
afternoon." 

"You'll  'ave  to  get  right  hout,  Mr.  Weather- 
bee,"  he  squeaked  in  a  taunting  tone  as  he 
started  down  the  stairs. 

"I'll  get  right  out,  Mr.  Wartle,"  Weatherbee 
answered  pleasantly. 

"Dad,  is  that  man  going  to  have  our  room?" 

"I  guess  so,  but  we — we  don't  care,  do  we?" 

"Aren't  we  going  to  live  here  any  more?" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        179 

"No — we  are  going  to  find  a  new  place  to 
live." 

"When?" 

"Just  as  soon  as  I  get  back." 

"Are  we  going  to  leave  our  things  here?" 

"Yes,  until  I  come  back,  and  then  we'll  come 
and  get  them  and  move  into  our  new  home. 
Come  here  and  let  me  wash  those  hands.  Oh, 
such  hands,"  and  he  held  the  little,  soiled  hands 
up  before  Jack's  eyes  and  then  kissed  them 
tenderly. 

"Stand  there  until  dad  gets  the  sponge." 

"May  I  take  my  rocking-horse  with  me?" 

"You  don't  want  to  take  your  rocking-horse 
over  to  Mrs.  Turner's.  Why,  she  wouldn't 
have  room  for  it,  her  home  is  so  crowded,"  and 
he  rubbed  the  little  hands  playfully  and  bound- 
ed the  sponge  against  his  face,  hoping  he  would 
forget  the  horse. 

"Well,  that  man  who  moves  in  here  will  ride 
on  it  and  break  it." 

"No,  he  won't ;  I'll  ask  him  not  to.  Where  is 
your  hat?" 

"There  it  is." 

And  Weatherbee  tied  the  strings  of  the  little, 


180        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

torn  straw  hat  under  his  chin  and  pulled  the 
sleeves  of  his  gingham  dress  down  over  his 
wrists. 

"May  I  take  mamma's  picture  with  me?" 

"You  bet." 

"And  my  story  book?" 

"Yes."  ' 

"And  my  jumping-jack?" 

"You  bet  you!" 

"Mr.  Wartle  calls  me  a  jumping-jack,  but 
I'm  not,  am  I,  dad?" 

"No,  sir;  you're  a  little  soldier!"  and 
Weatherbee  thought  he  was  smiling  with  ad- 
miration as  he  stood  back  and  looked  at  his 
little  hero  standing  in  the  center  of  the  table 
with  his  tiny  figure  patched  in  with  awkward 
patches  that  he  had  sewn  on  himself,  and  his 
pride  for  the  clumsy  stitches  he  had  taken 
made  him  forget  the  happy  role  he  was 
playing  and  his  eyes  betrayed  his  forced  smile. 

"Dad,  you're  crying!" 

"But  you  are  not  going  to  cry,  are  you — you 
are  going  to  be  brave — you  are  going  to  be  a 
great  big  soldier — dad's  soldier,  and  when  dad 
takes  you  over  to  Mrs.  Turner's  and  leaves  you, 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        181 

you  are  not  going  to  cry,  and  at  night  when 
you  go  to  bed,  you  are  not  going  to  forget 
your  prayers,  and  you're  going  to  pray  for  dad, 
and  wherever  dad  is — no  matter  where  he  is, 
or  how  lonely  he  is — he'll  pray  for  you  and  ask 
God  to  make  you  that  big,  strong,  honest  boy 
— that  big  soldier — that  loving  soldier  that  you 
are — that  you  have  always  been — that  you're 
always  going  to  be,  aren't  you?"  and  he 
clutched  the  child  in  his  arms  and  held  him 
until  he  gasped  for  breath — pushed  his  head 
back,  held  Weatherbee's  face  between  his  little 
hands  and  looked  into  his  eyes  reproachfully. 

"Dad,  you're  crying  now,"  and  he  shook  his 
small,  white  ringer  in  his  face  until  it  touched 
his  nose. 

"Yes,  dad  is  an  old  baby,  isn't  he?  But  you 
are  not  going  to  cry,  are  you?  And  if  you  get 
lonely,  just  think  hard  and  say  to  yourself  that 
you  know,  that  you  are  certain  dad  is  thinking 
of  you." 

"And  if  it  thunders,  I'll  just  get  under  the 
bed  clothes  and  won't  be  a  bit  afraid." 

"That's  right,  and  if  it  thunders  I'll  think  of 
you  and  take  you  in  my  arms  and  hold  you 


182        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

tight,  and  you  just  make  believe  that  you  are 
in  dad's  arms  and  that  you  hear  him  say,  'don't 
be  afraid/  and  he'll  be  saying  it  to  you  no  mat- 
ter where  he  is,  no  matter  where.  Will  you 
try?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know  dad  hasn't  anyone  else  on  earth 
to  think  of  but  you,  and  you  haven't  anyone 
but  me." 

"Shall  I  pray  for  Mr.  Warner?" 

"Yes,  ask  God  to  make  his  eyes  well  so  he 
can  see.  Will  you  remember?" 

"Yes." 

Weatherbee  placed  his  hands  on  the  child's 
shoulders,  looked  into  his  big,  brave  eyes,  drew 
him  to  his  breast,  then  folded  him  in  his  arms 
and  from  between  his  clinched  teeth  whispered, 
"good-bye,"  until  the  whisper  faded  into  a  sob. 

"Come  on,  now,"  and  he  jumped  him  to  the 
floor,  "get  your  jumping-jack  and  your  story 
book." 

And  Jack  placed  the  torn  story  book  under 
his  arm  and  tucked  the  crippled  jumping-jack 
into  the  small  pocket  of  his  dress.  "And  I  am 
going  to  take  mamma's  picture,"  he  said  as  he 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        183 

removed  it  from  the  table  and  studied  it 
thoughtfully. 

Weatherbee  enrolled  the  child's  few  pieces 
of  wearing  apparel  in  the  newspaper,  placed  a 
lead  pencil  and  a  few  sheets  of  memorandum  in 
his  pocket,  took  several  manuscripts  that  were 
lying  on  the  table  and  threw  them  on  a  shelf  in 
the  closet. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  my  picture,  dad?" 

"You  bet  I  am,  I  have  it  in  my  pocket,"  and 
he  glanced  about  the  room  quickly,  to  see  if 
there  was  any  favorite  trinket  small  enough  to 
carry  in  his  pocket,  but  there  was  nothing. 
The  tables  and  walls  were  bare. 

"Are  you  ready?"  he  asked  in  a  playful  voice 
as  he  pushed  the  newspaper  bundle  under  his 
arm. 

"Yep,"  was  Jack's  cheerful  answer.  It's 
raining,  dad,  and  we  haven't  any  umbrella, 
have  we?" 

"No,  we  don't  mind  the  rain,"  and  they 
started  hand  in  hand  while  the  cool,  damp 
breeze  sent  the  faded  window  curtains  to  and 
fro  as  if  to  wave  their  companions  a  "good  luck 
and  good-bye." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  distance  to  the  banisters  from  the  old 
wooden  table  which  Weatherbee  had  bent 
over  so  many,  many  long,  weary  nights  strug- 
gling with  his  books,  seemed  long.  His  feet 
felt  heavy — they  seemed  to  stick  to  the  old 
ragged  carpet  as  if  they  were  hugging  each 
spot  they  touched  for  the  last  time.  His  heart, 
which  was  hidden  behind  a  false  smile,  ached; 
it  throbbed  and  jumped  and  jerked  as  he 
thought  of  the  little  hand  he  was  holding. 

He  peeked  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes  at  the 
old  bed-couch  where  he  had  lain  for  the  last 
time  with  those  tiny  arms  clasped  around  his 
neck,  explaining  away  the  imaginary  riddles  of 
babyhood,  and  he  wondered  how  long  it  would 
be  before  those  little  arms  would  wind  them- 
selves around  his  neck  again  and  when  the 
sleepy  voice  would  whisper  some  puzzling 
question  into  his  ear  that  would  force  him  to 
rise  and  light  his  pipe,  while  he  searched  for 
an  answer. 

"I  can't  call  at  Mrs.  Turner's  to  see  him,"  he 

184 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        185 

thought  to  himself,  "for  I  told  her  I  was  leav- 
ing town  on  business  and  asked  her  to  take 
care  of  him  until  I  returned." 

Jack  was  well  acquainted  with  his  pensive 
moods  and  stood  patiently  watching  him  while 
he  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room,  buried  in 
thought,  with  his  head  hanging  low  and  his 
eyes  closed. 

The  stairs  creaked,  but  he  didn't  hear  them, 
though  Jack  listened  silently  and  watched 
eagerly  for  the  approaching  figure,  and  his 
eyes  glared  at  the  face  before  him,  his  fore- 
head wrinkled,  his  lips  separated,  and  he  stood 
speechless  in  a  state  of  frightened  amazement, 
and  studied  the  familiar  features  and  the 
large,  soft  eyes  that  were  looking  into  his.  He 
centered  his  gaze  on  her  eyes  and  he  didn't  see 
the  beautiful,  white,  soft  gown  that  clung  to 
her  slender  figure,  the  white  gloves  that  cov- 
ered her  shapely  hands,  or  the  large,  simple  hat 
of  the  same  color.  His  eyes  never  left  her  eyes 
—he  riveted  his  unnatural  stare  on  the  eyes 
that  might  have  been  moulded  from  the  ones 
in  the  picture  he  held  under  his  arm. 

As  Rosamond  Kent  stood  smiling  affection- 


186        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

ately  at  the  little  bundle  of  blue  gingham 
patches,  with  her  hand  resting  gracefully  on  the 
banister,  she  resembled  a  painting  that  might 
have  been  returned  from  an  exhibition  with  the 
gold  prize.  She  watched  the  two  characters 
standing  in  the  center  of  the  room  for  many 
seconds,  one  glaring  at  her  as  if  she  had  fallen 
out  of  a  peaceful  sky  and  the  other  with  his 
eyes  closed,  dreaming,  as  she  supposed,  of  a 
book  or  poem,  and  she  broke  the  silence  with 
a  gentle  "good-afternoon." 

The  words  came  to  Weatherbee's  ears  like 
music  that  had  floated  over  the  sea  of  memory, 
and  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  transferred  from 
the  dream  of  the  bed-couch  with  Jack's  arms 
clinging  about  his  neck  to  the  dream  of  a  voice 
he  had  heard  and  never  expected  to  hear  again. 
He  realized  he  was  standing  in  the  room  that 
he  must  leave,  and  he  hated  to  open  his  eyes 
and  gaze  at  its  walls  again  for  the  last  time. 
He  raised  his  lids  slowly  and  staggered  back 
when  he  saw  Miss  Kent  standing  before  him, 
and  his  tongue  seemed  to  stick  to  his  teeth 
when  he  tried  to  speak. 

"Go-od  af-ter-noon,"   he   mumbled   after   a 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        187 

desperate  struggle.  "This  is  an  unexpected 
pleasure." 

"The  old  gentleman  at  the  door  told  me  to 
come  right  up.  If  you  are  going  out,  Mr. 
Weatherbee,  please  don't  let  me  detain  you.  I 
can  call  again." 

"Well,  we  are  going  out,"  and  he  smiled 
faintly  as  he  glanced  down  at  Jack,  "but  we 
have  no  particular  anxiety  to  hurry." 

"What  a  sweet  child,"  Miss  Kent  remarked 
tenderly  advancing  a  step  toward  Jack.  "How 
do  you  do,  sir?"  and  she  offered  him  her 
hand  and  he  placed  his  toys  on  the  floor  and 
presented  one  hand  while  he  pulled  his  little 
hat  off  with  the  other,  though  his  eyes  never 
wandered  from  hers. 

"This  is  little  Jack,"  Weatherbee  said  in  a 
proud  tone,  and  he  placed  his  hand  on  the 
child's  head  and  shook  it  affectionately. 

"Well,  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,"  and  she 
shook  his  little  hand  firmly. 

"You  look  like  my  mamma's  picture,"  he 
whispered  as  he  drew  his  hand  away  slowly 
and  watched  her  eyes  steadily. 

"Is  that  so?  Well,  that  pleases  me  very 
much." 


188        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Weatherbee  stood  wondering  if  he  had  the 
right  or  the  authority  to  ask  his  guest  to  be 
seated,  and  he  faced  the  situation  humorously 
and  hoped  that  fate  might  delay  his  German 
friend  who  had  gone  for  his  belongings.  "I 
hope  he  loses  something  and  has  to  hunt  an 
hour  or  so  for  it,"  he  thought  to  himself  and 
decided  to  take  a  chance,  so  he  politely  request- 
ed Miss  Kent  to  be  seated. 

"Mr.  Weatherbee,"  she  replied  seriously,  "I 
have  come  on  a  matter  of  great  importance  to 
me,  and  if  you  can  spare  me  a  few  moments, 
I'll  try  and  be  as  brief  as  possible." 

Weatherbee's  smile  broadened  and  he  an- 
swered quietly,  "All  the  time  I  have  at  my  dis- 
posal, Miss  Kent,  is  yours,"  and  he  whispered 
in  Jack's  ear  to  wait  down-stairs  and  he  hurried 
away  and  sat  on  the  bottom  step  studying  his 
mother's  picture. 

Weatherbee  stood  before  Miss  Kent  and  re- 
marked politely,  "I  am  at  your  service."  He 
struggled  to  appear  at  ease,  though  he  was  un- 
able to  refrain  from  listening  for  the  approach 
of  his  German  friend. 

"Mr.  Weatherbee,  did  the  lady  we  were 
speaking  of  die  in  this  house?" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        189 

Weatherbee  nodded  his  head  and  whispered, 
"Yes." 

"How  long  ago?" 

"Over  two  years  ago." 

"Were  any  of  her  friends  with  her  when  she 
died?" 

"Only  one." 

"A  lady  or  a  gentleman  ?" 

"A  gentleman." 

"Do  you  know  how  she  was  situated 
financially?" 

"Her  friend  cared  for  her  during  her  illness." 

"Did  he  bury  her?" 

"As  best  he  could." 

"Do  you  know  where  I  can  find  him?" 

"I  am  he,"  Weatherbee  replied  slowly  and 
quietly  after  a  short  silence,  and  another  long 
silence  followed  while  she  stood  and  gazed  at 
him  with  an  admiration  that  made  her  fight 
with  her  white  gloved  arms  to  keep  them  from 
winding  themselves  around  his  neck.  She 
searched  for  words  that  would  express  her 
gratitude,  but  any  she  found  seemed  empty 
and  hollow,  and  she  shook  her  head  slowly  and 
whispered,  "How  noble  of  you,  how  noble  of 
you." 


190        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"I  wish  I  had  been  able  to  have  done  more," 
he  whispered  back  and  watched  the  tears 
gathering  around  her  large,  soft  eyes. 

"Would  it  be  asking  too  much  of  you  to  take 
me  to  her  grave?" 

"If  you  care  to  walk  with  me,  I  shall  be 
proud  to  take  you  there." 

"I  shall  be  proud  to  walk  with  you  and  I  am 
proud  to  know  you,"  and  she  went  to  him  and 
gripped  his  hand  firmly  and  looked  upon  his 
shiny,  worn  blue  serge  suit  as  a  flag  of  honor. 

Weatherbee  bowed  low  with  gratitude  and 
was  repeating  the  words,  "I  am  grateful,"  for 
the  second  time  as  the  long-haired  German 
youth,  who  had  rented  the  room,  appeared  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs  with  his  telescope. 

"May  I  huff  the  room  now?"  he  inquired 
politely. 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  Weatherbee  an- 
swered quickly,  and  he  assumed  an  air  of  wel- 
come and  a  rapidity  of  speech  that  made  it  im- 
possible for  the  youth  to  reply  or  reveal  the 
true  situation. 

"I  didn't  expect  you  so  soon.  You  may  have 
the  room — say — in  fifteen  minutes.  Would  it 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        191 

be  asking  too  much  of  you  to  allow  me  fifteen 
minutes?  I  wish  to  pick  up  one  or  two  little 
things — and  if  you  will  come  back  in  fifteen 
minutes — it  will  be  just  fifteen  minutes — of 
course  if  you  remain,  why,  you  can't  come 
back — but  I'd  love  to  have  you  come  back." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  the  youth  interrupt- 
ed, "I'll  leaf  my  thinks  here." 

"By  all  means  leave  your  things  here,"  and 
Weatherbee  removed  the  large  telescope  from 
his  hand  and  he  continued  talking  and  gently 
patted  him  on  the  shoulder,  urging  him  toward 
the  stairs— -"but  you'll  come  back,  won't  you? 
Thank  you  very  much,"  he  yelled  at  the  youth 
whom  he  had  on  his  way  down  the  stairs. 

"Pardon  me,  but  that  is  the  gentleman  who 
is  going  to  use  my  studio  while  I  am  away," 
and  he  transferred  the  heavy  telescope  from 
one  hand  to  the  other,  forgetting  in  his  em- 
barrassed excitement  that  there  was  such  a 
place  as  the  floor  to  set  it  on. 

"Are  you  going  to  remain  out  of  town 
long?"  Rosamond  asked  as  she  watched  him 
shift  the  bag  again. 

"I  haven't  decided  yet  just  how  long  I  will 


192        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

be  gone — it  depends.  I'll  be  right  here  in  the 
city  for  a  week  or  so.  What  day  would  you 
like  to  visit  your  friend's  grave?"  he  asked  seri- 
ously, holding  the  bag  in  both  hands. 

"Will  you  be  free  Monday?" 

"I — I  hope  so — at  what  time?" 

"I  would  like  to  go  in  the  morning — I  would 
like  to  take  some  flowers.  I  suppose  the  grave 
is  in  bad  condition?" 

"There  are  no  flowers  there,  but  otherwise 
the  grave  is  in  good  condition." 

"You  have  been  there?" 

"I  was  there  last  Sunday." 

She  made  another  search  for  words  to  ex- 
press her  gratitude,  but  failed  to  find  any  that 
would  even  suggest  one  of  the  numberless 
heart-throbs  his  noble  character  had  given  her. 
They  were  heart-throbs  of  love,  though  she 
was  unconscious  of  it,  for  the  love-throbs  were 
beating  behind  a  heavy  veil  of  gratitude.  She 
closed  her  eyes  and  gripped  each  hand  in  the 
other  and  spoke  in  a  low  whisper,  emphasizing 
each  word  with  a  nod  of  her  head.  "O  Mr. 
Weatherbee,  I  am  so  grateful  to  you." 

As  Weatherbee  stood  in  total  ignorance  of 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        193 

the  heavy  telescope  which  he  was  hanging  on 
to  with  both  hands  and  leaning  back  with  it 
against  his  knees,  he  suggested  a  comic  picture 
until  one  saw  the  serious,  sympathetic  expres- 
sion of  his  face  and  heard  the  deep,  gentle,  sin- 
cere love  quiver  in  his  voice. 

"Miss  Kent,  I  am  the  most  grateful  man  in 
the  world.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  find  words  that 
would  explain  how  proud  I  was  when  I  first 
saw  you  and  heard  you  read  the  poem  I  had 
written — that  I  had  even  thought  of,"  and  he 
accentuated  each  word  writh  an  unconscious 
pull  at  the  telescope  until  he  had  drawn  it  far 
above  his  knees.  He  was  not  aware  that  his 
voice  had  fallen  to  an  emotional  whisper,  until 
he  saw  Rosamond's  embarrassed  gaze  sink  to 
the  rag  carpet.  She  lowered  her  head  until  her 
face  was  hidden  behind  the  broad  white  rim  of 
her  hat  and  drifted  slowly  to  the  stairs. 

His  mind  travelled  back  over  what  he  had 
said — the  weight  of  the  telescope  fell  to  one 
hand  and  swung  to  his  side,  his  thin,  white 
fingers  wandered  through  his  hair  and  he  tried 
to  continue,  but  she  interrupted  by  laughing 
enthusiastically  and  exclaiming,  "Oh!"  as  she 


194        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

clasped  her  hands  together  when  she  saw  Jack 
busily  engaged  on  the  bottom  step  with  one  of 
his  toys.  "Why,  here  is  this  little  dear  sitting 
on  the  step.  Has  he  been  sitting  here  all  the 
time?" 

"I  think  so,"  Weatherbee  answered  as  he 
hurried  to  the  banister.  "Come  here,  Jack," 
and  he  ran  up  the  stairs  as  he  informed  them 
that  he  had  been  playing  with  his  jumping- 
jack  and  looking  at  his  mamma's  picture. 

Rosamond  stooped  and  met  him  at  the  top 
step  with  open  arms.  "Bless  his  heart — is  this 
your  jumping-jack?"  and  she  worked  the  crip- 
pled toy  and  watched  its  antics. 

"Yes,  and  this  is  my  story-book,"  and  he 
turned  the  torn  leaves  over  to  show  her  the 
pictures.  "And — and  this  is  my  mamma's  pic- 
ture," and  he  held  the  photograph  before  her 
and  watched  her  eyes  swell  as  they  stared  at 
the  face  of  her  sister  and  travel  in  blank  amaze- 
ment from  it  to  Weatherbee,  and  from  Weath- 
erbee back  to  the  dead  mother  whose  child 
stood  smiling  before  her.  Her  eyes  closed,  her 
lips  trembled  and  her  face  turned  deathly  pale. 
She  pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes  and  held 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        195 

them  there  for  a  moment,  then  glanced  at  Jack 
and  folded  him  in  her  arms  and  sobbed  hyster- 
ically— "O  Mr.  Weatherbee,  is  this  true?"  and 
he  nodded  his  head  slowly  and  watched  her 
clutch  the  child  tighter  in  her  arms  and  press 
her  lips  to  his  cheek. 

Weatherbee  wound  his  fingers  around  the 
handle  of  the  bulgy  telescope.  The  situation 
crept  through  his  mind  slowly,  and  he  felt  as  if 
he  were  being  wrapped  in  a  cold,  wet  blanket. 
He  saw  the  tiny  thing  that  he  had  tied  up  in 
his  soul  in  hard,  square  knots,  entering  the 
heart  of  a  blood  relation — one  who  was  nearer 
and  who  had  a  greater  right  to  love  it  than  he 
had  and  a  feeling  of  jealousy  shot  through  his 
veins.  He  clenched  his  teeth  and  his  body 
shook  with  fear  when  he  thought  of  Jack  pass- 
ing out  of  his  life.  He  saw  the  child  in  the 
Kent  mansion  dressed  in  costly  dress.es  and  he 
pictured  himself  on  a  lonely  cot,  and  he  whis- 
pered to  himself,  "I'm  a  coward,  I'm  a  selfish 
coward." 

Rosamond  held  Jack  by  the  shoulder,  pushed 
him  back  slowly,  gazed  into  his  eyes  tenderly 
and  ran  her  fingers  through  his  curls.  "Oh, 


196        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

my  dear,  are  you  going  away  with  your  papa?" 
"Yes,    he    is    going    to    leave    me    at    Mrs. 
Turner's  until  he  comes  back." 

"Oh,  no — no — no — you  must  come  and  live 
with  me  at  my  house,  mustn't  he,  Mr.  Weath- 
erbee?"  and  she  watched  Weatherbee's  eyes 
close  and  his  lips  twitch  and  she  waited  for  his 
reply,  but  he  didn't  answer. 

"O  Mr.  Weatherbee,  you  couldn't  refuse!" 
"No — no,"  he  sighed,  "I  mustn't  refuse,"  and 
in  her  nervous  excitement  Rosamond  took 
Jack  in  her  arms  and  carried  him  to  the  stairs. 
"You'll  see  your  papa  Monday  when  he 
calls,"  and  she  paused  on  the  top  step  while 
Jack  waved  the  broken  jumping-jack  at  his 
father,  who  was  throwing  a  farewell  kiss  with 
his  trembling  hand  and  trying  to  speak  with  a 
voice  that  was  sticking  in  his  throat.  "I'll  see 
you  Monday,  Jack." 

"Come,  dear,  we'll  get  in  the  automobile  and 
make  the  driver  drive  as  fast  as  he  can,"  and 
she  hurried  down  the  creaking  stairs,  while 
Jack  yelled  back  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "O 
dad,  we  are  going  to  ride  in  an  auti-mo-bile!'' 
and  Jack's  curls  floated  in  the  damp  breeze  a.? 
the  massive  car  whirled  up  Fifth  Avenue. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WEATHERBEE  hung  far  over  the  banis- 
ters and  watched  Miss  Kent  hurrying  down 
the  stairs  with  Jack.  His  long  arm  went  down 
as  far  as  he  could  reach  with  the  last  kiss  he 
threw  to  the  child;  while  he  watched  them  turn 
down  the  dark  hall,  he  pulled  the  telescope  up, 
set  it  on  the  banister,  placed  his  elbows  on  it 
and  rested  his  face  in  his  hands.  The  quiet  of 
the  room  seemed  restful.  He  often  sat  and 
listened  to  the  song  of  silence,  but  it  had  never 
seemed  as  friendly — it  sounded  as  if  it  were 
trying  to  hum  a  more  encouraging  air  than  it 
had  ever  tried  to  sing  to  him  before  and  he 
listened  quietly  for  many  moments. 

He  raised  his  head  slowly  and  sat  the  tele- 
scope on  the  floor,  strolled  leisurely  to  the  little 
window  and  drew  back  the  soiled  curtain.  The 
dark  clouds  had  turned  to  a  clear,  bright  blue- 
The  sun  peeped  in  through  the  small  window, 
rested  on  his  pale  cheek  and  he  welcomed  it 
with  a  faint  smile  of  gratitude.  The  curtain 
fell  from  his  fingers,  his  hands  wandered  into 

197 


198        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

the  pockets  of  his  trousers,  and  he  stood  at  the 
table  and  smiled  down  at  the  clumsy  little 
bundle  he  had  made  of  Jack's  belongings.  He 
untied  the  string,  removed  the  newspaper,  held 
the  little  blue  gingham  dress  up  and  grinned1 
at  the  awkward,  square  patches  that  he  had 
placed  there  himself.  His  mind  shot  up  Fifth 
Avenue  into  the  Kent  mansion,  and  he  won- 
dered if  he  would  ever  see  those  patches  hang- 
ing on  Jack's  tiny  form  again.  He  folded  the 
dress  carefully,  wrapped  it  in  the  newspaper, 
tied  it  tightly,  tucked  it  under  his  arm  and 
paused  as  he  thought  to  himself,  "I  can  at  least 
remain  until  my  German  friend  returns,"  and 
he  sat  in  the  broken  rocker  with  the  bundle  in 
his  lap,  rocked  peacefully  while  he  pictured 
Jack  being  prepared  for  his  first  dinner  on  Fifth 
Avenue  and  wondered  if  he  would  enjoy  it  as 
much  as  the  many  he  had  cooked  for  him  on 
the  oil  stove. 

He  pushed  the  little  rocker  back  and  forth 
swiftly,  threw  his  head  back  and  laughed  aloud 
as  he  thought  of  some  of  the  questions  Jack 
might  ask  when  he  sat  at  the  table  and  saw  the 
many  servants  bobbing  about  him. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        199 

"How  I  would  love  to  conceal  myself  in 
some  corner  and  not  let  him  know  I  was  there 
and  watch  his  eyes  and  listen  to  his  remarks," 
Weatherbee  thought  to  himself  while  he  swung 
to  and  fro  in  the  little  chair  that  seemed  to 
squeak  forth  with  enthusiasm  and  rejoice  in  his 
happy  thoughts. 

The  stream  of  sunlight  that  had  been  steal- 
ing its  way  through  the  little  window  had 
broadened  and  crawled  along  on  the  rag  carpet 
and  was  flickering  and  dancing  before  him  as 
if  it  knew  his  mind  and  wanted  to  waltz  in  uni- 
son with  his  heart,  which  was  beating  with  joy 
over  the  story  it  had  to  tell  Warner  while  they 
sat  on  the  bench  in  the  park  that  night  and 
gazed  up  through  the  trees  at  the  moon. 

He  had  completely  forgotten  himself  and  his 
own  situation.  He  smiled  at  the  moment  of 
jealousy  he  had  passed  through  when  he  saw 
Miss  Kent  seize  Jack  and  hold  him  in  her  arms. 
His  jealousy  simmered  into  gratitude  as  he 
looked  at  Jack's  future  path  in  life,  the  path  he 
had  studied  and  worried  over  so  many  nights, 
the  path  that  fate  had  changed  from  one  of 
cobble  stones  to  one  of  roses. 


200        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

His  mind  felt  as  if  it  were  hanging  on  a  pen- 
dulum, for  it  swung  back  and  forth  over  the 
situation  from  the  time  he  first  saw  Jack  sit- 
ting on  the  floor  at  his  mother's  bedside,  play- 
ing with  a  rubber  toy,  until  Miss  Kent  hurried 
down  the  stairs  with  him  clutched  in  her  arms. 
He  thought  of  the  something  that  kept  slap- 
ping him  on  the  back  and  pushing  him  toward 
the  Kent  mansion  when  he  fought  with  himself 
and  tried  not  to  go.  With  closed  eyes  he 
glanced  at  his  embarrassment  in  Kent's  pres- 
ence and  was  grateful  for  it. 

"How  small  and  yet  how  big  the  world  is," 
he  thought  as  he  pictured  the  few  short  blocks 
which  had  hidden  the  soul  that  flickered  out  of 
the  hall  bedroom  on  Twenty-ninth  Street  from 
one  in  the  mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue,  not  twen- 
ty blocks  away. 

"It's  a  good  old  world,  though,  if  you  humor 
it  a  little,"  he  whispered  aloud  and  his  eyes  fell 
on  the  manuscripts  he  had  thrown  on  the 
shelf  in  the  closet  and  he  walked  over 
and  pulled  them  down  and  glanced  over  the 
pages  and  pushed  them  under  the  string  that 
was  tied  around  Jack's  bundle.  "The  poor 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        201 

'scripts  aren't  to  blame,"  he  thought  to  himself, 
"and  they  may  keep  me  company  under  some 
lonesome  old  tree." 

He  wrote  his  German  friend  a  note  thanking 
him  for  remaining  away  so  long  and  nailed  it 
to  the  center  of  the  table  with  a  pin  so  he  would 
be  sure  to  see  it.  He  pushed  Jack's  bundle  and 
his  'scripts  under  his  arm  and  started  on  his 
aimless  journey,  but  the  old  stairs  creaked  be- 
fore he  reached  them  and  announced  a  new 
arrival. 

"It's  the  German  youth,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  took  the  note  and  tore  it  in  bits  and 
turned  to  express  his  thanks,  and  his  eyes  fell 
on  the  small,  thin  figure  of  Mr.  Grant,  the  pub- 
lisher. His  forehead  knitted  itself  into  a  mass 
of  puzzled  wrinkles  when  he  saw  the  man 
standing  before  him  that  he  had  tried  in  vain 
to  see  so  many  times.  He  thought  of  the  one 
abrupt  interview  the  little  man  had  given  him 
after  he  had  called  at  his  office  every  morning 
for  a  few  weeks.  He  remembered  his  snappy, 
hopeless  tones,  and  how  he  dismissed  him 
without  asking  him  to  be  seated.  He  remem- 
bered the  clean-shaven  face  with  the  thin  lips 


202        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

that  hung  over  the  long  protruding  teeth  and 
the  small  grey  eyes  that  shot  from  his  head  to 
his  shoes  and  back  to  the  pages  of  a  book  they 
had  left  for  less  than  a  second  and  didn't  leave 
again  during  the  conversation  that  lasted  per- 
haps seconds.  It  was  Weatherbee's  last  visit 
to  a  publisher's  office — the  visit  that  had 
humiliated  him  more  than  any  he  had  ever 
experienced.  Grant  was  the  man  who  had 
ignored  his  presence  after  he  had  given  him 
one  piercing  glance,  the  man  who  blocked  his 
conversation  by  snapping,  "I'm  busy  now," 
each  time  he  attempted  to  speak,  but  there  he 
stood  smiling  pleasantly. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Weatherbee,"  and  he 
jerked  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  as  quickly  as 
he  did  when  he  sat  in  his  office  chair,  though 
his  voice  didn't  possess  the  annoyed  tone  it  did 
then. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Grant?  This  is  some- 
thing new  for  the  publisher  to  call  on  the 
author,  isn't  it?" 

"No,  the  publisher  is  glad  to  call  on  the 
author  if  he  is  writing  anything  worth  while." 

"Well,  I  hope  I  have  written  something  of 
that  kind." 


THE   GUEST   OF  HONOR        203 

"You  have.  I  read  one  of  your  'scripts  yes- 
terday and  took  the  other  home  and  read  it  last 
night.  Sorry  I  didn't  get  to  them  sooner,  but 
you  know  the  works  of  an  unknown  author  are 
usually  left  until  everything  else  is  read." 

"Yes,  I  have  known  that  for  some  time," 
Weatherbee  answered  in  a  low,  dry  tone, 
though  he  wasn't  sure  whether  Mr.  Grant 
meant  his  remarks  to  be  funny  or  otherwise. 

"I  am  leaving  town  this  evening  for  three  or 
four  weeks,  and  I  wanted  to  see  you  first.  If 
you  haven't  disposed  of  your  books  and  wish 
to  do  business  with  us,  we  would  like  to  pub- 
lish them  this  fall." 

After  Weatherbee  had  swallowed  a  few 
times  and  searched  around  and  found  his  voice, 
he  informed  Mr.  Grant  that  he  would  be  glad 
to  do  business  with  his  firm. 

Grant's  eyes  shot  around  the  attic  room  and 
gathered  in  Weatherbee's  situation  with  a 
glance,  but  his  cold,  snappy  personality  mis- 
represented his  character.  His  sharp  business 
instinct  told  him  at  once  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  man  who  was  in  need  of  money, 
but  he  was  not  a  man  who  would  take  an  unfair 


204        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

advantage  of  a  business  opportunity  and  his 
innate  generosity  which  was  hidden  behind  his 
snappy,  icy  manner,  was  favorably  touched  by 
Weatherbee's  humorous  frankness. 

"Very  well,  glance  at  that,"  he  said  in  his 
usual  jerky  way,  as  he  drew  a  contract  from 
his  coat  pocket  quickly,  and  gave  it  to  Weath- 
erbee.  "You'll  find  the  regular  percentage 
there.  We  don't  usually  give  it  to  an  unknown 
author,  but  I  like  your  work.  That  contract 
gives  us  an  option  on  anything  you  write  for 
the  next  ten  years — two  hundred  and  fifty  dol^ 
lars  down  on  each  of  these  books  and  five  hun- 
dred on  each  one  we  accept  hereafter.  If  that 
is  satisfactory,  you  may  sign  this  one,  I  have 
signed  that  one." 

He  smiled  when  he  watched  Weatherbee's 
hands  tremble  as  he  held  the  contract  before 
his  closed  eyes  and  listened  to  the  words  which 
were  uttered  in  a  stuttering  whisper,  "That  is 
quite  satisfactory  to  me,  Mr.  Grant." 

"Just  sign  it  here,"  he  remarked  in  a  quiet 
tone  of  amusement,  holding  his  thumb  on  the 
spot  as  he  placed  the  contract  on  the  table  and 
gave  Weatherbee  his  fountain  pen,  and  Weath- 


THE   GUEST   OF  HONOR        205 

erbee  scribbled  his  name  on  the  sheet  of  paper, 
while  Grant  grabbed  a  chair  and  seated  himself 
at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  drew  his  check- 
book from  his  hip  pocket,  removed  his  pen 
from  between  Weatherbee's  fingers  and  asked 
quickly,  "You  spell  your  name  W-e-a-t-h-e-r- 
b-e-e — don't  you?" 

"Yes,  John  Weatherbee,"  he  stammered, 
and  Grant  drew  the  check,  passed  it  and  a  slip 
of  paper  across  the  table  and  placed  the  pen  in 
Weatherbee's  fingers. 

"Just  sign  that  receipt,  will  you?"  and  while 
Weatherbee  tried  to  scratch  his  name  on  the 
paper,  Grant  held  the  check  square  before  him 
and  read  it  aloud  quickly.  "  Tay  to  the  order 
of  John  Weatherbee,  five  hundred  dollars,  H. 
B.  Grant  &  Company.'  I  guess  you'll  find  that 
all  right,"  and  he  gave  Weatherbee  an  affec- 
tionate crack  on  the  back,  as  he  continued, 
"And  if  I'm  not  greatly  mistaken  those  two 
books  will  bring  you  in  a  great  many  of  those 
checks.  I  hope  so.  Make  yourself  at  home  in 
our  office,  Mr.  Weatherbee.  Keep  working, 
young  man,  you're  the  comine  American  au- 
thor— good  day,"  and  his  short,  thin  legs  car- 


206        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

ried  his  small  body  away  in  the  same  jerky 
manner  in  which  his  tongue  disposed  of  his 
conversation.  He  felt  that  he  was  conscious  of 
Weatherbee's  circumstances  from  the  moment 
he  had  entered  the  room  and  he  glanced  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  started  down  the  stairs  and 
smiled  at  Weatherbee's  dazed  condition  caused 
by  the  five  hundred  dollar  check. 

Weatherbee's  hand  shook  as  he  held  the 
check  close  to  his  eyes  and  read  it  over  care- 
fully. He  placed  it  on  the  table  and  looked 
around  the  room  to  see  if  he  was  alone  and 
then  held  it  still  closer  to  his  eyes  and  read  it 
over  several  times.  He  studied  the  date,  the 
signature,  the  amount  and  placed  it  on  the 
table,  crowded  his  hands  deep  into  the  pockets 
of  his  trousers,  tilted  back  in  his  chair  and 
gazed  at  it  as  if  he  expected  it  to  bite  him  if  he 
touched  it  again.  He  stood  his  elbows  on  the 
table  and  rested  his  head  in  his  hand  and 
looked  down  at  it  as  if  he  were  gazing  into  a 
bottomless  well,  and  read  it  over  again  and 
again. 

The  German  youth  entered  the  room,  spoke 
and  coughed  several  times,  but  wasn't  heard 


"ll'ealherbee's  hand  shook  as  he  held  the  check  clone  to  his  eyes  and  read 
it  carefully" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        207 

until  he  stepped  to  Weatherbee's  side  and 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder  gently. 

After  Weatherbee  had  looked  him  over  with 
a  vacant  stare  for  several  seconds,  he  gathered 
words  enough  together  to  thank  him  for  giving 
him  the  use  of  the  room  as  long  as  he  had,  and 
learned,  after  polite  inquiry,  that  the  German 
didn't  object  to  taking  a  room  on  the  floor  be- 
low if  he  didn't  have  to  pay  more  than  one 
dollar  and  fifty  cents  a  week  for  it. 

Weatherbee  explained  that  owing  to  an  un- 
expected change  in  his  business  arrangements, 
he  was  going  to  remain  in  the  city  and  would 
like  to  keep  his  room.  "I  shall  see  that  you  get 
a  more  pleasant  room  than  this  one  and  will 
willingly  pay  the  difference  in  rent  while  you 
are  here.  Will  you  make  yourself  at  home 
while  I  see  Mr.  Wartle  and  have  him  assign 
you  to  the  room?" 

Weatherbee  found  Wartle  and  Mrs.  Murray 
seated  in  the  kitchen  going  over  the  details  of 
their  approaching  wedding.  Wartle  not  only 
ignored  the  check,  but  laughed  at  it  and  said, 
"Hit  his  ha  bunkho." 

Mrs.   Murray   examined   it  and   said,   "It's 


208        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

ginuine,"  and  the  groom  was  ordered  to  ad- 
vance "Witherbee"  what  money  he  wanted  and 
to  stop  "chewin'  the  rag  about  it." 

The  German  youth  moved  his  large  tele- 
scope into  the  front  room  on  the  floor  below 
and  Weatherbee  started  for  Mrs.  Turner's  to 
explain  Jack's  absence  with  twenty  dollars  in 
his  pocket,  while  Mrs.  Murray  and  Wartle  sat 
examining  the  check. 

When  Weatherbee  reached  Warner's  house 
he  was  notified  that  he  hadn't  been  there  since 
noon  and  he  paid  the  rent  for  Warner's  room 
and  started  for  the  park.  He  found  Warner 
seated  on  the  bench  they  called  "theirs."  His 
slouch  hat  was  crumpled  in  his  left  hand,  his 
cane  stood  between  his  knees  and  his  right 
hand  rested  on  its  handle.  His  head  hung  low 
and  his  white  hair  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
pushed  in  every  direction  by  nervous  fingers. 

Weatherbee  stood  at  a  distance  of  twenty 
feet  and  studied  the  picture  for  many  minutes. 
His  heart  beat  with  enthusiasm  and  admira- 
tion for  the  man  who  sat  bowed  in  grief  wait- 
ing for  his  coming.  His  robin  was  chirping 
above  his  head,  but  he  didn't  seem  to  hear  it. 


"  He  found  Warner  seated  on  the  bench  they  called  theirs.  His 
slouch  hat  was  crumpled  in  his  left  hand,  his  cane  stood  between 
his  knees  and  his  right  hand  rested  on  its  handle.  His  head  hung 
low  and  his  white  hair  looked  as  if  it  had  been  pushid  in  erery 
direction  by  nervous  fingers" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        209 

Weatherbee  sauntered  up  to  his  side  and 
struck  him  a  savage  whack  on  the  shoulder 
that  knocked  his  cane  and  hat  from  his  hand. 

"Well,  we  are  here,  Warner!"  he  exclaimed 
in  a  good-natured  tone,  that  Warner  thought 
was  cleverly  forced. 

"Yes,  John,  I  have  been  waiting  for  you." 

"How  long  have  you  been  sitting  here, 
Warner?" 

"I  don't  know,  John." 

"Did  you  sit  here  while  it  was  raining?" 

"I  don't  know,  John,  I  guess  so." 

"Why,  you're  soaked,  Warner." 

"It  feels  good,  John,  it  feels  good.    It's  cool." 

"Let  us  walk,  Warner — I — I  can't  sit  still, 
I'm  nervous,"  and  they  started  across  Seventy- 
second  Street  toward  Broadway. 

Warner  clung  to  Weatherbee's  arm  and 
dragged  his  feet  along  slowly.  He  didn't  ask 
where  they  were  going,  for  he  didn't  care  and 
the  most  welcome  spot  he  could  think  of  was 
the  river. 

Weatherbee's  long  silence  was  not  inten- 
tional. He  had  a  long  pleasant  story  to  tell 
and  he  didn't  know  just  how  to  tell  it,  or  where 


210        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

to  begin.  He  had  rushed  to  Mrs.  Turner's, 
then  to  Warner's  house  and  from  there  to  the 
Park  so  hurriedly  that  he  had  not  quite  re- 
gained his  breath,  but  he  was  collecting  his 
thoughts  slowly  and  preparing  to  bombard 
Warner  with  the  good  news. 

"Come  in  here,"  he  said  quietly,  as  he  pulled 
Warner  into  a  large  Broadway  restaurant  and 
relieved  him  of  his  hat  and  cane  and  seated 
him  at  a  table  spread  with  fresh,  white  linen. 

"We  are  going  from  soup  to  nuts,  Warner, 
and  from  there  to  pure  Havana  tobacco,"  and 
Weatherbee  quietly  passed  the  long  pleasant 
story  across  the  table  and  watched  Warner 
pick  the  tears  from  his  smiling  eyes  with  the 
corner  of  his  serviette.  Weatherbee  begged 
him  to  talk,  but  it  was  useless.  His  tongue  was 
numb  with  happiness,  there  were  no  words  to 
express  or  describe  his  feeling  and  he  sighed 
and  pulled  away  at  his  long,  black  cigar  in 
silence.  Weatherbee  led  him  to  his  hall  bed- 
room and  he  whispered,  "Good-night,  John," 
many  times  before  he  released  his  hand  and  he 
sat  on  the  edge  of  his  cot  and  dreamed  over  the 
story  long  after  Weatherbee  had  gone. 


- 


'And  he  filled  his  pipe,  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  irindoic,  placed 
his  arms  on  the  sill,  smiled  up  at  the  moon  and  smoked  ' 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        211 

A  large  box  of  smoking  tobacco  was  pur- 
chased in  the  little  cigar  store  on  Twenty- 
ninth  Street.  The  moon  was  peeping  in 
through  the  little  attic  window  to  welcome 
Weatherbee  when  he  entered,  and  he  filled  his 
pipe,  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  window,  placed  his 
arms  on  its  sill,  smiled  up  at  the  moon  and 
smoked. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN  the  automobile  came  to  a  stop  in 
front  of  the  Kent  mansion,  Rosamond  alighted 
quickly,  but  Jack  made  no  attempt  to  move. 
He  sat  staring  at  the  large  windows  and  the 
white  marble  steps. 

"Oh,  are  we  there  already?"  he  inquired  in 
a  tone  that  explained  his  desire  to  remain  in 
the  car  as  he  sat  quietly  and  watched  Rosa- 
mond standing  with  both  hands  stretched  for- 
ward to  jump  him  to  the  walk. 

"Yes,  we  are  home — your  home,"  she  an- 
swered tenderly  and  she  took  him  in  her  arms 
and  carried  him  to  the  top  step,  but  his  en- 
trance into  the  mansion  was  made  backwards 
for  his  eyes  never  left  the  automobile  until  the 
heavy  door  swung  and  hid  it  from  his  wonder- 
ing gaze. 

He  mentally  photographed  the  butler's  uni- 
form with  one  glance  and  a  pleasant  smile,  then 
remarked  in  a  most  complimentary  manner, 
"you  look  just  like  a  man  in  my  picture  book," 
but  the  gentleman  who  represented  the  cut  in 

212 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        213 

the  picture  book,  printed  for  the  purpose  of 
pleasing  babies,  did  not  think  the  compliment 
called  for  any  word  of  thanks  and  he  made  no 
reply,  though  Rosamond  squeezed  his  little 
hand  affectionately  and  concealed  a  smile  with 
her  white  glove  as  she  led  him  into  the  drawing 
room. 

His  eyes  wandered  from  one  large  oil  paint- 
ing to  another  and  his  voice  fell  to  a  surprised 
whisper.  "Oh,  this  is  just  like  the  Art 
Museum,  isn't  it?"  and  he  threw  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back  and  clutched  them  tightly  as  he 
stood  in  the  center  of  the  large  room  and  began 
to  count  the  sheep  on  one  of  the  canvasses. 

Rosamond  watched  the  little  red  lips  move 
silently  until  they  exclaimed:— "There  are 
sixty-three  in  that  one,  aren't  there?" 

"I  have  never  counted  them.  You  come  up 
to  my  room  and  I'll  explain  all  these  paintings 
to  you  tomorrow." 

When  they  reached  the  foot  of  the  wide 
stairs  Rosamond  attempted  to  take  Jack  in  her 
arms,  but  he  politely  protested. 

"You  mustn't  carry  me,  because  I'm  too 
heavy." 


214        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"What  makes  you  think  you  are  too  heavy?" 

"Because  when  you  lift  me  your  face  gets 
red." 

So  they  climbed  the  stairs  hand  in  hand  and 
Jack  playfully  pounded  his  little  feet  on  the 
heavily  carpeted  steps  and  stopped  when  he 
had  gone  half  way  and  jumped  up  and  down 
several  times,  then  exclaimed  in  a  hopeless, 
breathless  tone,  "you  can't  make  these  big* 
stairs  squeak,  can  you?" 

"Do  you  like  to  hear  the  steps  squeak?" 

"Yes,  Dad  says  our  stairs  can  talk — and1 
they  just  yell  when  Mr.  Wartle  gets  on  them." 

"Don't  you  like  these  stairs?" 

"Yes,  pretty  well,  they  look  nice,  but  they 
won't  squeak,  I  like  squeaky  stairs." 

Rosamond  threw  the  door  of  her  sleeping 
room  open  and  Jack  entered  by  sliding  his  feet 
along  the  heavy  rug. 

"This  is  my  room." 

After  his  eyes  had  travelled  around  the  four 
walls  several  times,  he  inquired  in  a  tone  of 
utter  amazement,  "Do  you  sleep  in  this  big 
room  all  alone?" 

"Yes,  and  I'm  going  to  get  a  bed  to  match 
mine  and  have  it  put  in  here  for  you." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        215 

"Will  there  be  a  tent  over  it  like  yours?" 
"Yes,  just  like  mine.    Will  you  like  that?" 
"Yes,  is  that  to  keep  the  mosquitoes  out?" 
"No,  that  is  to  keep  the  light  out.    There  are 
no  mosquitoes  up  here." 

He  slid  his  way  to  one  of  the  large  windows, 
pulled  the  curtain  aside  and  stepped  back  with 
surprise. 

"Oh,  you  can  see  right  out  onto  the  street, 
can't  you?  And  there  is  the  man  who  brought 
us  up  here  in  his  automobile.  I  guess  he  is 
waiting  for  his  pay." 

Rosamond  tried  to  watch  the  child  gazing 
down  at  the  long  line  of  automobiles  crowding 
their  way  in  both  directions,  but  she  was  un- 
able to  control  her  love  and  she  took  him  in 
her  arms,  placed  him  among  the  silk-covered 
pillows  on  the  large  divan  and  kissed  him  until 
he  gasped  for  breath. 

"How  would  you  like  some  nice  cake  and  a 
glass  of  milk  or  nice  ice-cold  lemonade  before 
dinner?" 

Jack  didn't  keep  her  waiting  long  for  a  reply, 
and  it  took  her  some  time  to  explain  the 
mechanism  of  the  electric  button  she  pressed 
to  summon  the  servant. 


216        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"But  I  can't  hear  it  ring,"  and  he  became 
more  puzzled  as  he  pressed  each  one  of  the  five 
buttons  several  times,  but  he  was  finally  con- 
vinced that  they  made  a  noise  some  place  when 
he  saw  five  servants  standing  at  the  door 
awaiting  orders. 

Rosamond  selected  two  of  her  choice  silk 
pillows  from  the  divan,  placed  them  in  a  large 
armchair  and  seated  Jack  at  a  small  mahogany 
table  before  the  window.  She  drew  the  cur- 
tains aside  so  he  could  watch  the  automobiles 
pass  and  he  was  served  with  several  portions  of 
chocolate  cake  and  a  silver  pitcher  of  lemon- 
ade. She  instructed  her  maid  to  care  for  his 
wants  and  with  a  number  of  affectionate  kisses, 
asked  to  be  excused  for  just  a  few  minutes. 

Jack  granted  her  request  politely  and  also  in- 
formed her  as  she  was  hurrying  from  the  room 
that  the  automobile  man  was  waiting  there  yet 
for  his  pay. 

There  were  very  few  crumbs  of  chocolate 
left  on  the  large  silver  cake  dish  when  Jack 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  began  counting 
the  automobiles  passing  on  the  crowded  street 
below.  He  counted  until  the  large  blue  eyes 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        217 

became  drowsy  and  closed.  The  automobiles, 
the  silver  cake  dish,  the  electric  buttons  and 
the  noise  and  mad  rush  on  Fifth  Avenue  were 
forgotten,  for  the  baby  mind  dreamed  itself 
back  into  Weatherbee's  arms  on  the  little  cot 
in  the  attic  on  Twenty-ninth  Street. 

Rosamond  unfolded  the  strange  story  to  her 
mother  and  Helen,  and  all  three  agreed  that 
Mr.  Kent  shouldn't  be  informed  until  the  prop- 
er opportunity  presented  itself,  and  after  a 
careful  plan  had  been  arranged  to  conceal  the 
child's  identity,  they  went  to  Rosamond's 
room,  dismissed  the  maid  and  studied  the 
sleeping  picture  carefully  for  many  minutes. 

Jack  awoke  to  find  himself  wrapped  in  Mrs. 
Kent's  arms  and  her  cheek  pressed  to  his.  He 
grunted  and  struggled  until  he  succeeded  in 
gaining  his  freedom  and  backed  his  way  to  the 
center  of  the  room,  gazing  with  a  quizzical  eye 
at  Mrs.  Kent,  whose  faint  smile  was  liberally 
moistened  with  tears. 

Helen  informed  him  that  he  hadn't  kissed 
her  yet  and  then  took  possession  of  him  after  a 
playful  struggle  and  kissed  him  affectionately 
many  times. 


218        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Jack  blushed  and  laughed  heartily,  for  he 
considered  it  all  a  huge  joke  and  glanced  from 
one  to  the  other  as  if  he  were  wondering  what 
was  going  to  happen  next.  After  a  long 
silence,  he  took  Mrs.  Kent's  hand  in  both  of 
his,  looked  up  into  her  eyes  and  whispered, 
"Why  are  you  crying?"  and  she  answered  with 
a  deep  sob  and  more  tears  as  she  gathered  him 
in  her  arms. 

Dinner  was  announced  and  Rosamond  took 
personal  charge  of  the  little  soiled  hands  and 
the  curls  which  were  somewhat  tangled,  owing 
to  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  passed 
from  one  to  the  other  since  his  arrival  at  the 
Kent  mansion.  The  curls  were  gently  straight- 
ened and  the  little  hands  washed  in  a  lather  of 
perfumed  soap  that  kept  either  one  hand  or  the 
other  constantly  at  Jack's  nose. 

"Isn't  that  nice  smelly  soap?" 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"Yes,  I  never  smelled  such  lovely  soap  be- 
fore." 

The  curls  were  sprinkled  with  rich  toilet 
water  and  the  patches  on  the  gingham  dress 
were  scented  with  French  perfume.  She  held 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        219 

the  little  white  face  between  her  hands  and 
kissed  the  large  blue  eyes  again  and  again. 

She  was  even  better  acquainted  with  her 
father's  strong,  stubborn  mind  than  her  mother 
and  she  feared  his  attitude  toward  the  child, 
so  she  planned  a  harmless  little  scheme  that 
would  keep  Jack's  real  name  a  secret  until  they 
became  acquainted  and  would  not  cause  the 
child  to  tell  a  falsehood. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  so?"  he  asked  in  a 
puzzled  tone,  as  he  stood  with  his  hands  at  his 
side  allowing  Rosamond  to  squeeze  his  cheeks 
tightly.  "Are  you  worried  about  something?" 

"No,  I  am  happy — awfully,  awfully  happy!" 

"Why  do  you  frown  so,  then?" 

"Because  I  am  so  happy." 

"People  don't  frown  when  they  are  happy, 
do  they?" 

"I  do  sometimes  when  I  am  very,  very 
happy,"  and  she  squeezed  the  cheeks  tighter 
and  shook  the  little  head  until  the  curls  swung 
about  his  face. 

"Do  you  like  my  sister?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Do  you  like  my  mother?" 

"Yes,  very  much." 


220        THE   GUEST   OK   HONOR 

"You  are  going  to  meet  my  father  at  dinner 
tonight,  and  I  want  you  to  like  him  too.  He 
doesn't  talk  very  much  and  when  he  does  talk, 
he  speaks  quickly  and  he  has  a  deep  heavy  voice 
and  he  jerks  his  words  out  as  if  he  was  angry 
about  something,  but  he  isn't,  that  is  only  his 
way,  so  don't  you  be  afraid,  will  you?" 

"No — Dad  says  big  souls  always  have  big 
voices.  Mr.  Warner  has  a  big  voice." 

"My  father  has  a  big  soul,  but  he  doesn't 
know  it — he  keeps  it  locked  up  in  his  business, 
and  we  are  going  to  make  him  unlock  it.  You 
and  my  mother  and  sister  and  I  are  going  to 
play  a  little  joke  on  him." 

"Won't  he  be  angry?" 

"No,  because  he  won't  know  anything  about 
it.  Even  when  it  is  all  over  he  won't  know  it 
was  a  joke,  so  you  see  he  can't  get  angry,  can 
he?" 

"No,  I  don't  see  how  he  can — if  he  doesn't 
find  it  out.  What  is  it?" 

"Well,  we  are  going  to  introduce  you  to  him 
as  'Little  Jack,'  just  'Little  Jack' — no  more, 
and  he  may  not  ask  what  your  last  name  is,  but 
if  he  does,  why,  you  just  say  'Jack'  and  then 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        221 

when  you  get  quite  well  acquainted  we'll  tell 
him  your  last  name.  Don't  you  think  that  will 
be  a  good  joke?" 

"Yes,  but  if  he  asks  me  right  away  what  my 
last  name  is,  what  shall  I  say  then?" 

"Just  say,  'Jack.'  " 

"But  he  may  say  'Jack,  what?'  " 

"Then  you  may  say,  'I  guess  that  is  all.'  Be 
sure  and  say  'I  guess,'  won't  you?" 

Jack  repeated  the  words,  "I  guess  that  is  all," 
aloud  until  he  reached  the  dining  room,  but  the 
old  colored  waiter's  large  white  eyes  stared 
them  out  of  his  memory,  and  he  didn't  hesitate 
to  remind  him  that  he  also  looked  like  a  man  in 
his  picture  book. 

Kent's  approach  was  announced  by  the 
clearing  of  his  throat  as  he  left  the  library  and 
a  hush  fell  over  the  dining  room  and  Jack 
muffled  his  laugh  by  placing  his  hand  over  his 
mouth  and  whispering  between  his  fingers,  "Is 
this  he?" 

Rosamond  nodded  her  head  and  Jack's 
hands  fell  to  his  side.  He  stood  erect,  smiled 
playfully,  and  repeated  the  words  to  himself, 
"I  guess  that  is  all."  The  man  of  whom  the 


222        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

three  ladies  stood  in  dread  meant  nothing-  to 
Jack  but  a  huge  joke.  The  large  table,  which 
was  thickly  spread  with  silverware,  the  hand- 
somely decorated  room  and  the  many  servants 
were  not  even  noticed  by  the  child.  His  mind 
was  riveted  on  the  joke  he  was  to  take  part  in, 
and  the  joke  robbed  the  costly  surroundings  of 
any  attention. 

He  waited  for  his  victim  calmly  and,  when 
Rosamond  introduced  him  to  her  father,  he 
courtesied,  stepped  forward,  quickly  offered 
his  hand  and  spoke  in  a  firm  voice. 

"I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Kent." 

Kent  held  his  hand  while  he  studied  the 
quaint  little  picture.  His  eyes  travelled  quickly 
from  the  curls  to  the  eyes  and  to  the  patched 
dress  and  back  to  the  eyes  that  were  dancing 
with  merriment.  He  released  the  little  hand 
and  Rosamond  seated  him  in  the  high  chair  at 
her  right,  which  placed  him  at  Kent's  left. 

The  dinner  progressed  in  silence  for  some 
time,  while  all  ears  were  anxiously  waiting  for 
Kent's  first  question.  He  was  not  aware  that 
his  quizzical  glances  at  the  child's  features 
were  being  carefully  watched  by  his  family. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        223 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  the  quizzical 
glance  melted  into  a  synipathetic  stare.  The 
cigar  that  he  always  puffed  at  between  courses 
was  forgotten,  and  each  course  was  served  and 
removed  unnoticed.  He  studied  Jack's  perfect 
table  manners  carefully,  and  the  easy,  grace- 
ful way  in  which  he  conducted  himself  aston- 
ished him. 

Jack  ate  heartily  and  the  smile  never  left  his 
face,  for  he  waited  with  much  amusement  for 
his  cue,  and  several  times  he  was  heard  whis- 
pering to  himself,  "I  guess  that  is  all." 

"You  don't  eat  very  much,  do  you?"  he  re- 
marked kindly  to  Kent  and  finished  by  uncon- 
sciously saying  aloud,  "I  guess  that  is  all." 

"No,"  Kent  replied  pleasantly,  "it  seems  to 
satisfy  my  appetite  to  watch  you — you  seem  to 
be  doing  most  of  the  work  here  this  evening. 
No  one  appears  to  be  very  hungry  but  you,  so 
you  just  go  right  ahead.  Better  bring  some 
more  ice  cream,  Sam'l,  he  will  scrape  the 
flowers  off  that  dish  if  you  don't." 

Jack  was  served  with  another  large  portion 
of  ice  cream.  Kent  lighted  his  cigar,  sipped 
his  coffee  and  laughed  heartily  when  Jack 
grunted  that  he  just  couldn't  eat  any  more. 


224        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"From  all  appearances  you  are  going  to 
keep  the  'Ten  Club'  busy  cooking,  aren't  you?" 

"What  is  the  'Ten  Club?'  "  Jack  asked,  fin- 
ishing his  remark  with,  "I  guess  that  is  all." 

"Hasn't  Miss  Kent  told  you  what  the  'Ten 
Club' is?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"Well,  you  come  in  the  library  and  I'll  tell 
you  what  it  is  and  you  can  tell  me  who  you  are 
and  all  about  yourself,"  and  he  jumped  him 
from  the  high  chair  and  led  him  to  the  library 
and  Jack  looked  back  at  Rosamond  with  a 
smile  of  assurance  and  whispered,  "I  guess 
that  is  all." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  picture  of  Kent  jumping  the  child  to 
the  floor  and  sauntering  into  the  library  swing- 
ing his  little  hand  playfully,  so  surprised  the 
ladies  that  they  rose  to  their  feet  simultane- 
ously. After  a  few  astonished  glances  had 
been  exchanged,  a  short  conversation  was  held 
in  a  low  whisper  and  it  was  decided  that  the 
little  stranger  and  Mr.  Kent  be  left  entirely 
alone  until  they  became  better  acquainted,  so 
Mrs.  Kent  and  Helen  retired  to  Rosamond's 
room  and  left  her  to  watch  the  development  of 
the  new  acquaintance  which  had  progressed  so 
favorably,  though  all  three  were  waiting  with 
much  anxiety  and  no  little  fear  for  the  moment 
to  come  when  Kent  would  discover  who  Jack 
was.  Rosamond  remained  near  the  open  door 
of  the  library,  but  she  was  not  seen  by  the 
father  or  the  child. 

"I  call  this  my  home  office,"  Kent  said  in  a 
heavy,  mellow  voice,  as  he  paused  in  the  center 
of  the  room  still  clinging  to  the  child's  hand. 

Jack   surveyed   with   one   quick   glance   the 

225 


226        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

four  walls,  ceiling,  floor,  the  massive  furniture 
and  the  many  books,  then  ran  to  the  window, 
pulled  the  curtain  aside  and  yelled,  "oh,  what 
a  pretty  glass  house  and  what  beautiful 
flowers!" 

The  sight  of  the  large  conservatory  and  the 
many  gorgeous  plants  aroused  his  enthusiasm 
and  drew  his  face  so  close  to  the  window  that 
his  little  nose  was  pressed  flat  against  the  glass. 

Kent  followed  him  to  the  window  and 
meant  to  pat  the  child  affectionately,  but  he 
pressed  his  heavy  hand  on  his  little  head  and 
squeezed  it  with  his  fingers  until  he  yelled 
"ouch,"  and  drew  away. 

"Oh,  did  I  hurt  you?  I  didn't  mean  to,"  he 
said  in  a  heavy  tone,  which  had  a  sincere  apolo- 
getic ring  to  it;  but  Jack  soon  forgot  the  pinch 
and  his  little  face  was  again  pressed  against 
the  windowpane  staring  at  the  flowers. 

"The  ladies  have  charge  of  the  conservatory. 
They  call  it  theirs — I  never  go  in  there.  I 
guess  I  haven't  been  in  there  in  a'year,  but  I'll 
take  you  in  there  tomorrow  and  show  you  all 
through  it.  There  are  a  lot  of  nice  flowers  on 
the  other  side  there  that  you  can't  see  from 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        227 

here.  Rosamond  has  some  orange  trees  in 
there  and  sometimes  we  get  some  very  nice 
oranges  from  them.  If  there  are  any  there  to- 
morrow we'll  pick  them." 

Kent  pushed  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of 
his  trousers,  puffed  contentedly  at  his  cigar 
and  walked  slowly  about  the  room,  searching 
through  the  books  carefully. 

"I  guess  I  haven't  any  picture  books  here. 
You  see  we  never  had  any  little  boys  in  this 
house,  and  I  haven't  anything  here  to  amuse 
you  with." 

"You  don't  need  picture  books  to  look  at  in 
this  big  house,"  Jack  answered  quickly. 

Kent  laughed  good-naturedly  and  his  eyes 
left  the  books  and  wandered  to  Jack  who  was 
pressing  his  face  tightly  against  the  glass,  star- 
ing through  at  the  flowers. 

''How  big  is  the  house  you  live  in  ?" 

"We  just  have  one  room." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"On  the  top  floor." 

"Do  your  mother  and  father  live  there  too?" 

"My  real  parents  are  dead.  My  adopted 
father  lives  there." 


228        THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR 

Kent  removed  the  cigar  from  his  lips  and 
gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  lighted  end  for  some 
seconds  before  he  spoke. 

"It  is  getting  rather  dark  to  look  at  those 
flowers,  isn't  it?" 

"I  can  see  the  white  ones,  but  the  red  ones 
are  turning  black." 

Kent  pressed  one  of  the  buttons  and  whis- 
pered to  the  servant  to  turn  on  the  lights  in  the 
conservatory.  He  laughed  heartily  when  the 
flowers  blossomed  out  under  the  glare  of  the 
electric  lights  and  Jack  stepped  back  from  the 
window  clapping  his  hands  with  delight. 

"Oh,  don't  the  flowers  look  pretty  now,  and 
doesn't  that  old  man  look  black  standing 
amongst  those  white  roses?" 

"He's  pretty  black,  isn't  he?  We  call  him 
'Old  Black  Joe.'  He  used  to  be  a  slave  away 
down  South.  I'll  have  him  tell  you  some 
stories  about  himself  when  he  was  a  boy  and 
how  his  master  used  to  whip  him." 

"Like  'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'?" 

"Yes,  have  you  seen  'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'?" 

"No,  but  Dad  has  read  it  to  me  and  told  me 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        229 

about  it  and  how  they  whipped  poor  old  'Uncle 
Tom'  and  how  little  'Eva'  went  to  Heaven." 

"What  does  your  adopted  father  do?" 

"He  writes." 

"What  does  he  write?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  says  he  guesses  it's  trash 
because  no  one  will  buy  it." 

Jack's  old-fashioned  manner  and  the  quick, 
direct  way  in  which  he  expressed  himself  not 
only  amused  Kent,  but  it  explained  the  fact 
that  his  time  had  been  spent  with  much  older 
companions  than  himself. 

"Do  you  go  to  school?" 

"Yes,  I  go  to  Dad's  school." 

"Where  is  your  Dad's  school?" 

"Home  in  our  room." 

"Is  your  father  your  teacher?" 

"Yes,  we  have  school  every  morning  right 
after  breakfast." 

"What  does  he  teach  you?" 

"Arithmetic,  reading,  spelling,  manners— 

"Do  you  like  to  study?" 

"Yes,  but  Dad  won't  let  me  study  as  much 
as  I  want  to.  We  just  have  school  for  two 


230        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

hours  and  then  he  puts  my  books  away  and 
makes  me  play." 

"Well,  you  like  to  play,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  but  I  would  rather  study.  I  like  to 
learn  things.  I'd  like  to  learn  how  to  make  a 
subway  that  you  couldn't  sweep  off  like  Dad 
does  the  one  I  built  under  our  cot-bed." 

Jack  drew  his  face  from  the  windowpane 
and  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  Kent,  who 
shook  with  laughter  at  his  remark,  but  the 
picture  of  his  subway  being  swept  away  with 
a  stubby  old  broom  wasn't  at  all  funny  to  him 
and  he  placed  his  nose  against  the  glass  and 
continued  studying  the  flowers. 

Kent  seated  himself  on  the  large  leather 
divan,  placed  his  elbow  on  his  knees  and 
laughed  again  as  he  drew  a  picture  of  the  sub- 
way being  swept  onto  a  dustpan,  but  Jack  was 
perfectly  contented  with  the  picture  before 
him,  and  he  held  his  face  to  the  window  and 
permitted  Kent  to  laugh  at  something  he  con- 
sidered anything  but  humorous. 

"Does  your  father  sweep  your  subway  up 
every  day?" 

1  'Most   every  day.     Some   days   I   do   the 
sweeping." 


"I  suppose  you  forget  to  sweep  under  the 
bed,  don't  you?" 

"I  don't  forget,  but  I  just  don't  sweep  my 
subway  out  on  purpose." 

"Doesn't  your  father  scold  you?" 

"No,  he  just  laughs." 

"What  do  you  do  when  he  sweeps  your  sub- 
way out?" 

"I  just  laugh  and  build  a  new  one." 

"What  do  you  do  when  your  father  scolds 
you?" 

"He  never  scolds  me." 

"Hasn't  he  ever  scolded  you?" 
""  "No." 

"Did  your  real  father  ever  scold  you?" 

"I  never  saw  my  real  father.  He  died  before 
I  was  born." 

"Do  you  remember  your  mamma?" 

"No,  but  I  have  her  picture.  My  mamma 
looks  just  like  the  Miss  Kent  who  brought  me 
here.  I  just  love  Miss  Kent." 

"Everyone  who  knows  Miss  Kent  loves  her," 
Kent  replied  slowly.  "How  did  Miss  Kent 
find  you?" 

"I  don't  know.     She  just  came  and  got  me 


232        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

and  brought  me  here  in  a  nice  big  automobile." 
"Do  you  like  to  ride  in  automobiles?" 
"Yes,  I  never  rode  in  one  before  and  we  got 
here  almost  as  soon  as  we  started." 

"We'll  go  for  a  long  ride  tomorrow.    Aren't 
you  getting  tired  looking  at  those  flowers?" 
"No,  I  love  flowers  and  birds  and  squirrels." 
"There  are  quite  a  number  of  birds  in  the 
conservatory  and  they'll  be  singing  for  all  they 
are  worth   tomorrow — one  just   tries   to  out- 
sing  the  other.     Sometimes  we  have  to  lower 
the  sunshades  to  darken  the  conservatory  so 
they'll  stop." 

"Oh,  why  don't  you  let  them  sing?  Birds 
are  happy  when  they  sing!" 

"Yes,  but  you  see  we  are  afraid  they  will 
strain  their  voices  and  we  don't  want  them  to 
do  that,  do  we?" 

Jack  dragged  a  long  drawn  out  "no"  from 
his  throat  that  seemed  to  carry  a  great  deal  of 
doubt  with  it,  for  he  thought  in  his  own  mind 
that  birds  knew  as  much  about  a  bird's  voice 
as  a  human  being  did. 

"I  don't  think  birds  would  hurt  their  voices 
singing.  They  just  sing  because  they  can't 


help  it.     They  are  born  to  sing.     They  don't 
have  to  take  singing-  lessons  like  people  do." 
"Have  you  ever  taken  singing  lessons?" 
"No,  but   I'm  going  to  if  Dad  ever  sells  a 
publisher  one  of  his  books." 

"How  old  is  your  adopted  father?" 
"I  really  don't  know." 
"Has  he  got  gray  hair?" 
"No,  he  is  young  like  Miss  Kent." 
"I  think  you'll  have  to  take  me  down  and 
introduce  me  to  your  father — I  think  I  would 
like  him.    Do  you  think  he  would  like  me?" 
"Yes,  he  would  surely  like  you." 
"How  do  you  know  he  would  like  me?" 
"Because  you  are  Miss  Kent's  father." 
"Does  he  like  Miss  Kent?" 
"Yes,   didn't   you   say   everyone   likes   Miss 
Kent?" 

"I  wonder  why?" 

"I  don't  know  why — you  just  like  her  be- 
cause you  can't  help  it." 

"Did  your  father  say  he  liked  her?" 
"No — but  I  knew  he  did  from  the  way  he 
looked  at  her." 


234        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"How  many  times  did  Miss  Kent  call  at  your 
house?" 

"Just  once,  I  guess." 

"I  think  you  have  studied  those  flowers  long 
enough,  don't  you  ?  Won't  you  come  over  here 
and  visit  me?" 

Jack  placed  Kent's  pleading  request  under 
immediate  consideration,  but  the  sight  of  the 
flowers  kept  his  little  face  pressed  against  the 
window. 

"Do  you  know,"  Kent  continued  in  a  softer 
tone,  "  you  haven't  told  me  your  name  yet?" 

"You  haven't  asked  me,"  Jack  replied  play- 
fully, and  he  had  forgotten  the  flowers  and  was 
in  the  center  of  the  room  before  he  had  finished 
his  remark. 

"Well,  I'll  ask  you  now — what  is  it?"  and  he 
-stretched  his  open  hands  forward. 

Jack  seized  the  forefinger  of  each  hand  and 
clapped  them  together  as  roughly  as  his  baby 
strength  would  permit  and  exclaimed  in  a 
teasing  tone,  "Jack." 

"Jack  what?"  Kent  inquired,  trying  to  imi- 
tate the  teasing  tone  in  the  child's  voice. 

"I  guess  that  is  all,"  was  the  teasing  reply, 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        235 

and  he  shook  his  head  as  if  to  warn  Kent  that 
it  was  useless  to  ask  any  more  questions  on  the 
subject. 

Kent  gripped  the  little  hands  tightly,  drew 
the  small  body  between  his  knees  and  locked 
it  in  the  circle  he  made  by  crossing  his  feet. 

Jack's  eyes  danced  with  enthusiasm  and  his 
lips  quivered  with  a  confident  smile.  The 
mind  that  had  been  trained  on  Wall  Street  saw 
at  once  that  there  was  some  joke  in  the  air  re- 
garding the  child's  last  name  and  it  wasn't 
long  before  Jack  was  tricked  into  revealing  it 
in  full. 

Kent  closed  one  eye,  moved  his  lips  silently 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  recall  something  which 
had  slipped  from  his  memory,  and  then  whis- 
pered slowly,  "How  does  your  adopted  father 
spell  his  name?" 

Jack  spelled  the  name  of  "John  Weatherbee" 
innocently  and  correctly.  Kent  squeezed  the 
little  hands  tighter  and  gazed  into  the  baby 
eyes  several  seconds  before  he  spoke.  He 
glanced  back  over  his  cold,  stormy  interview 
with  the  father  of  the  child  he  was  holding  in 
his  arms,  he  shook  his  head  slowly  and  grunt- 


236        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

ed,  "I  see —  I  see — your  adopted  father  has  no 
secretary — has  he?" 

"No." 

"Of  course  not — of  course  not — describe  him 
to  me,  won't  you?" 

After  Jack  had  granted  his  request,  the 
heavy  head  swung  again  and  the  gruff  voice 
grunted,  "I  guess  I  was  wrong,  but  I  wonder 
why  he  told  the  ladies  he  was  his  secretary." 

Jack  watched  the  cold  gray  eyes  close  and 
the  heavy  lines  in  the  forehead  grow  deeper 
and  he  counted  them  until  he  was  forced  to  in- 
form Kent  that  he  was  hurting  his  hands  by 
squeezing  them  so  hard. 

"Has  Miss  Kent  got  your  mamma's  picture?" 

"Yes." 

"I  would  like  to  see  it." 

"I'll  get  it  for  you.  It  is  upstairs  in  her 
room,"  and  he  tried  to  climb  from  between 
Kent's  legs,  but  Kent  squeezed  him  between 
his  knees  and  held  his  hands  firmly. 

"Don't  bother  about  it  now,  you  can  show  it 
to  me  tomorrow.  So  you  haven't  any  name 
but  Jack?" 

"I  guess  that  is  all." 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        237 

Kent  noticed  the  strong,  careful  way  in 
which  Jack  emphasized  the  word  "guess"  and 
he  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  youthful  innocence. 

"How  did  your  real  father  spell  his  name?" 

Jack  spelled  the  name  of  "Reginold  Ather- 
ton"  out  distinctly.  He  felt  Kent's  hands, 
which  were  holding  his,  tremble.  His  face 
turned  deathly  pale,  and  the  big  cigar  fell  from 
his  thick,  quivering  lips.  The  wild  look  of  the 
cold,  gray  eyes  that  were  staring  into  his 
frightened  him  and  he  tried  to  draw  away,  but 
he  was  as  powerless  as  if  he  had  been  locked 
in  a  steel  safe. 

Rosamond  had  hugged  the  library  door  as 
tightly  as  possible  without  being  seen  or  heard. 
She  had  listened  and  followed  every  word  of 
the  conversation  carefully.  She  waited 
anxiously  for  it  to  continue,  but  the  long 
silence  puzzled  and  tempted  her  curiosity.  She 
peeked  into  the  open  door  when  she  heard 
Jack  say  "you  are  hurting  me,"  and  she  saw  the 
child  wrapped  in  her  father's  arms,  his  cheek 
resting  on  the  curly  head.  She  heard  the 
heavy,  rough  voice  break  into  a  soft  sob,  and 
she  tiptoed  away  to  describe  the  picture  to  her 
mother. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

JACK  struggled  and  grunted  for  his  free- 
dom until  he  became  convinced  that  his  efforts 
were  useless  as  long  as  Kent  wished  to  hold 
him  in  his  arms,  so  he  rested  his  head  against 
Kent's  shoulder  and  remained  there  for  a  short 
time,  but  the  sentiment  was  all  on  Kent's  side, 
for  the  little  fellow  was  waiting  patiently  to  be 
released,  he  wanted  to  get  another  peek  at  the 
flowers  in  the  beautiful  conservatory. 

Kent  placed  his  hands  on  the  child's 
shoulders,  pushed  him  back  as  far  as  his  arms 
would  reach  and  stared  into  his  eyes  until  Jack 
smiled  faintly  and  remarked  in  a  quiet  tone 
that  showed  he  didn't  approve  of  the  tearful 
attitude  that  everyone  whom  he  had  met  in  the 
house  had  taken  toward  him : 

"Everybody  I  have  met  in  this  house  has 
cried  all  over  me." 

Kent  rocked  his  head  to  and  fro  slowly 
many  times  before  he  spoke. 

"Have  they  all  cried  on  you?" 

"All    but    the    little    girl,"    Jack    answered 

238 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        239 

quickly.  "Mrs.  Kent  cried,  and  Miss  Kent 
cried  down  at  our  house  and  then  she  cried 
again  up  here,  but  the  little  girl  just  laughed 
and  shook  me." 

"Well,  you  see  the  little  girl  hasn't  passed 
the  laughing  age  yet.  She  laughs  at  every- 
thing, but  she'll  cry  too  some  day,"  and  Kent 
shook  the  little  shoulders  affectionately,  then 
pinched  the  cheeks  and  pushed  the  curls  back 
from  his  forehead. 

"Do  you  like  the  little  girl  because  she  didn't 
cry?" 

Jack  nodded  his  head  quickly  and  before  he 
had  ceased,  Kent  inquired  if  he  liked  Mrs.  Kent 
and  the  head  continued  shaking,  and  shook 
while  he  informed  Kent  in  a  most  convincing 
tone  that  he  liked  all  the  ladies  and  just  loved 
Miss  Kent. 

"I  want  you  to  like  me,  too,"  Kent  whis- 
pered, "for  I  like  you  and  I  want  you  to  be  my 
chum.  Do  you  think  you  are  going  to  like 
me?" 

"Yes,  I  like  you  already.  Miss  Kent  said 
that  you  didn't  talk  much,  but  you  do.  You 
talk  a  lot,  don't  you?" 


Kent's  mind  was  far  away  from  anything 
humorous,  but  Jack's  frank  remark,  which  was 
meant  as  a  compliment,  forced  him  to  laugh 
heartily.  His  fingers  wandered  through  the 
child's  curls; — he  wound  a  curl  around  each  of 
his  forefingers,  and  would  pull  his  hand  away 
only  to  find  it  travelling  back  to  pinch  the  rosy 
cheeks  and  from  the  cheeks  it  would  go  to  the 
curls  and  back  to  the  cheeks  again. 

"Do  I  talk  too  much?" 

"No,  I  like  to  talk  a  lot  and  ask  questions. 
Dad  says  I  ask  too  many  questions." 

"Well,  you  just  ask  me  all  the  questions  you 
want  to,"  and  he  gave  the  cheeks  another 
tender  squeeze.  "What  time  does  your  Dad 
put  you  to  bed?" 

"About  eight  o'clock." 

"I  guess  it's  after  eight  now,"  and  Kent  drew 
his  watch  from  his  pocket  and  pressed  the  but- 
ton quickly  after  he  had  glanced  at  it.  "Why, 
it's  nearly  nine  o'clock.  Joe  will  take  you  up 
to  Miss  Kent  and  she'll  tuck  you  away  and  I'll 
see  you  in  the  morning  and  we'll  go  and  look 
at  the  flowers  and  have  a  big  long  talk.  Have 
you  got  a  kiss  for  your  new  chum?" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        241 

Jack  wound  his  tiny  arms  around  Kent's 
neck  and  kissed  him  affectionately  and  Kent 
held  him  tightly  while  "Joe"  stood  at  the  door 
and  awaited  orders. 

"Joe,  take  Mr.  -  -  Mr.  -  — ,  take  my  chum 
to  Miss  Rosamond  and  tell  her  he  is  ready  to 
retire,"  and  Joe  led  Jack  up  the  broad  stairs 
and  he  pounded  each  step  in  vain  with  his  tiny 
feet  trying  to  make  them  squeak. 

"These  stairs  just  won't  talk,  will  they?" 

"I  dun-o  es  I  'ave  heard  'em,  but  I  guess  if 
anyone  can  make  'em  talk  yo  am  that  puson, 
chil'.  Yo  'ave  cernly  started  a  buzz  in  this 
'ouse  such  as  I  neva  heard  afo'.  What  is  yo 
name,  anyhow?" 

"Jack,"  was  the  quick  reply  in  a  loud  voice, 
and  he  stopped  suddenly  and  stared  up  at  the 
wondering  white  eyes  that  were  glaring  out  of 
the  black,  shiny  face  at  him. 

"Jack— Jack  what?" 

"Jack;  and  I  guess  that  is  all,"  and  he  pulled 
Joe  on  his  way  up  the  stairs,  pounding  away  at 
each  step  in  hope  it  might  creak. 

Joe  delivered  him  to  the  ladies,  who  received 
him  as  a  long  lost  child  and  he  was  hugged  by 


242        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

one  until  the  other  succeeded  in  getting  posses- 
sion of  him,  but  he  still  looked  upon  his  recep- 
tion as  a  huge  joke  and  accepted  it  all  play- 
fully, laughing  and  struggling  until  he  escaped 
from  one  only  to  find  himself  in  the  arms  of 
another. 

Rosamond  took  charge  of  him  for  the  night 
and  his  eyes  opened  wide  when  she  ushered 
him  into  her  room  and  he  found  that  during 
his  absence,  a  tiny  bed  which  matched  Rosa- 
mond's had  been  placed  there  for  him. 

"Oh,  look  at  the  funny  little  bed!"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  he  paused  just  inside  the  door. 

"That  is  yours.  Do  you  like  it?"  Rosamond 
inquired  anxiously. 

"Yes,  and  it  has  got  a  little  tent  on  it  just 
like  yours,  hasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  Helen  slept  in  that  bed  when  she  was 
a  little  girl  like  you." 

His  eyes  left  the  bed  quickly  and  searched 
Rosamond's  somewhat  reproachfully  for 
many  seconds  before  he  informed  her  with  a 
great  deal  of  pride  that  he  was  a  boy. 

Rosamond  apologized  for  her  careless  mis- 
take and  assured  him  with  another  kiss  that 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        243 

she  knew  he  was  a  boy  and  was  very  happy 
over  the  fact.  The  pride  he  had  shown  in  his 
rather  boastful  way  of  announcing  that  he  was 
a  boy  forced  her  to  refrain  from  informing  him 
that  there  were  no  little  boy's  night  clothes  in 
the  house  and  he  would  have  to  sleep  in  one  of 
Helen's  baby  night  dresses  until  Monday,  so 
she  decided  to  prepare  him  for  bed  and  allow 
him  to  make  the  discovery  himself  and  she 
waited  with  much  pleasure  to  see  if  he  would 
notice  the  difference.  She  drew  the  thin,  white 
nightdress  over  his  curly  head  and  smiled  as 
she  started  to  tie  the  baby  blue  ribbon  about 
his  neck. 

He  examined  his  little  bare  arms,  which 
stuck  out  through  the  short  sleeves  that  came 
just  below  his  shoulders  and  gave  each  sleeve 
a  good  pull  to  see  if  he  couldn't  bring  it  down 
where  he  thought  it  belonged,  but  he  found 
that  his  efforts  were  useless.  He  untied  the 
little  drawn  ribbon  in  the  end  of  each  sleeve 
and  gave  it  another  severe  pull.  He  glanced 
down  at  the  body  of  the  dress  to  see  if  it  was 
cut  on  the  same  plan  as  the  sleeves,  but  found 
it  plenty  long  enough,  in  fact  too  long,  for 


244        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

many  inches  were  lying  on  the  floor.  He  ex- 
amined the  sleeves  again  carefully  and  finally 
remarked  in  a  puzzled  tone:  "This  is  the  fun- 
niest nightgown  I  ever  saw." 

Rosamond  bit  her  lip  to  conceal  her  smile 
and  tied  the  blue  ribbons  of  the  sleeves  in 
pretty  bow-knots. 

"Isn't  your  nightgown  like  this?"  she  asked 
in  a  tone  of  forced  surprise. 

"No,"  Jack  replied  quickly,  and  he  gazed 
with  contempt  at  the  blue  ribbons  and  long 
white  lace  which  hung  at  the  end  of  the  sleeves. 
"My  nightgown  buttons  down  the  front  and 
has  long  sleeves  and  legs  on  it.  This  is  like  the 
ones  they  have  on  girl  dolls  in  the  store 
windows." 

"You'll  like  this  after  you  get  to  sleep." 

"Well,  after  I  am  asleep  I  won't  know  I've 
got  it  on." 

"No,  you  will  forget  all  about  it  and  Monday 
we'll  get  some  with  legs  on  them,  just  like 
yours." 

"Maybe  Dad  will  be  back  and  take  me  home 
before  Monday,"  and  he  glanced  up  into  Rosa- 
mond's eyes  with  a  hopeful  smile. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        245 

The  humorous  expression  darted  from  Rosa- 
mond's face  and  a  sad  twinkle  crept  into  her 
soft  brown  eyes  and  her  voice  trembled  as  she 
whispered,  "Don't  you  want  to  live  here?" 

"Yes,  I  want  to  live  here  until  Dad  gets 
back." 

"Then  do  you  want  to  go  back  and  live  with 
your  Dad?" 

"Of  course,  you  wouldn't  want  to  go  and  live 
away  from  your  Dad,  would  you?" 

"Perhaps  I  would  if  I  liked  some  other  place 
better." 

"I  wouldn't  like  any  place  better  than  where 
my  Dad  is." 

"Don't  you  like  it  here?" 

"Yes,  but  I  like  our  house  better." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  isn't  so  big.  This  house  is  like  a 
big  store  and  you  haven't  any  cat  here." 

"Yes,  we  have;  there  are  two  cats  here  and 
they  have  great,  large,  bushy  tails  and  we  have 
a  nice  bull  dog  and  we  have  horses  and  we 
have  two  nice  automobiles.  You  like  automo- 
biles, don't  you?" 

"Yes,  but  your  stairs  don't  squeak  like  ours," 


246        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

and  there  was  a  challenging  note  in  the  child's 
voice  and  a  proud  twinkle  in  his-  eye  and  he 
held  his  little  head  high  in  the  air  and  waited 
for  Rosamond's  reply,' but  she  only  twined  his 
curls  around  her  fingers  and  nodded  her  head 
in  silence.  She  lifted  him  into  the  little  bed 
and  pressed  her  lips  to  his,  but  he  pushed  her 
head  away  gently  and  reminded  her  that  he 
shouldn't  go  to  bed  until  after  he  had  said  his 
prayers  and  he  kneeled  at  the  edge  of  the  bed 
and  repeated  the  Lord's  prayer  aloud.  He 
didn't  hear  the  door  being  opened,  for  Mrs. 
Kent  made  no  sound  as  she  turned  the  knob 
and  peeked  in  at  the  tiny  figure  and  heard  the 
words,  "God  bless  mamma,  papa,  and  make  me 
a  good  child  for  Jesus'  sake,  Amen." 

Rosamond  placed  her  finger  on  her  lips  and 
her  mother  closed  the  door  silently  and  re- 
turned to  her  room. 

Joe  paced  up  and  down  past  the  open  door  of 
the  library  until  both  hands  of  the  clock  which 
stood  on  Kent's  desk  had  reached  twelve.  He 
watched  Kent  who  had  been  sitting  on  the 
divan  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands  for  at  least  an  hour. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        247 

He  had  often  sat  in  a  dark  corner  and  watched 
him  pace  the  floor  hurling  heavy  clouds  of 
smoke  from  his  cigar  when  he  was  worried 
over  the  business  wars  of  Wall  Street,  but  he 
had  never  known  him  to  remain  in  one  posi- 
tion without  smoking  as  long  as  he  had  in  the 
present  one.  He  stood  before  the  door  and 
coughed  mechanically  several  times,  but  his 
efforts  went  unnoticed  and  he  decided  to  try 
and  interrupt  the  silence  by  speaking,  though 
he  spoke  twice  in  a  loud  tone  before  he  was 
heard,  but  Kent  made  no  reply. 

"Can  I  get  yo'  anything,  sir?"  he  pleaded  for 
the  third  time,  and  Kent  only  grunted,  "Noth- 
ing, Joe,  nothing." 

"Do  yo'  know  it  is  twelve  o'clock,  sir?" 
"All  right,  Joe,  lock  up,"  he  ordered  in  a 
sighing  voice  that  was  strange  to  the  servant 
who  had  listened  to  his  gruff,  boisterous  tones 
for  so  many  years.  He  pushed  his  hands  into 
the  pockets  of  his  trousers,  mounted  the  heavy 
stairs,  entered  his  room  and  threw  himself  on 
the  couch.  Joe  guarded  his  door  and  listened 
breathlessly  until  he  was  sure  he  heard  him 
retiring.  He  looked  at  his  watch  as  he  stole 


248        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

down  the  hall  and  whispered  to  himself,  "Ma 
Goad,  it  am  fo'  o'clock." 

Breakfast  was  ready  at  eight  o'clock,  which 
was  the  usual  hour.  For  years  Kent's  fruit 
and  coffee  had  been  served  in  his  room,  or  at 
his  desk  in  the  library,  but  he  instructed  the 
butler  to  serve  his  breakfast  in  the  dining 
room. 

"Is  Mrs.  Kent  having  her  breakfast  in  her 
room?" 

"No,  sir,  she  is  coming  downstairs  to  break- 
fast this  mornin'." 

"Are  the  girls  going  to  dine  downstairs?" 

"Miss  Rosamond  am,  but  Miss  Helen  is  go- 
ing to  have  her  coffee  and  toast  in  her  room  as 
usual,  sir." 

During  breakfast,  Kent  made  several  appar- 
ent attempts  to  be  unconcerned  and  jovial,  but 
his  efforts  were  forced  and  his  humor  dis- 
played the  mechanism  and  struggle  that  was 
back  of  it  trying  to  force  it  over  the  mind  that 
was  still  in  a  bewildered  condition. 

Jack  was  so  busy  watching  the  coffee  bub- 
bling up  through  the  spout  of  the  French 
coffee  pot,  that  it  was  hard  for  him  to  answer 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        249 

the  many  questions  which  were  being  hurled 
at  him  from  all  sides. 

Kent  asked  him  for  the  third  time  how  he 
slept  and  after  he  had  given  the  question  con- 
siderable thought,  he  replied  that  he  didn't 
know  how  he  slept,  he  just  went  to  sleep  and 
didn't  know  anything  after  that,  but  Rosa- 
mond was  perfectly  capable  of  answering  the 
question,  for  she  had  spent  most  of  the  night 
watching  and  rearranging  the  spread  about  his 
shoulders  and  she  assured  her  father  that  he 
had  spent  a  very  peaceful  night. 

"Isn't  Miss  Helen  coming  to  breakfast?"  he 
inquired  after  the  breakfast  was  half  over. 

"Miss  Helen  is  having  her  breakfast  in  her 
room,"  Kent  replied  quickly,  for  he  showed  an 
eagerness  to  answer  all  the  child's  questions 
and  Mrs.  Kent  and  Rosamond  seemed  anxious 
to  give  him  the  opportunity. 

"Is  she  having  her  breakfast  in  the  room 
where  she  sleeps?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  she  ill?" 

"I  hope  not,"  Kent  answered  with  a  smile. 


250        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"What  is  she  eating  her  breakfast  in  her 
bedroom  for  then?" 

"She  likes  to  eat  her  breakfast  up  there." 

"Dad  made  me  stay  in  bed  and  eat  my  break- 
fast one  day  when  I  had  a  cold." 

"Do  you  like  to  eat  your  breakfast  in  bed?" 

"No,  you  get  the  crumbs  all  over  everything. 
The  top  is  coming  off!"  he  yelled,  as  he 
watched  the  steam  force  the  glass  cover  of  the 
coffee  pot  up  and  down. 

Kent  always  spent  Sunday  morning  with  his 
private  secretary,  but  he  was  dismissed  with- 
out seeing  Kent,  though  he  insisted  that  there 
were  several  matters  which  needed  Kent's  im- 
mediate attention,  but  Kent  sent  word  he  was 
busy  and  to  let  everything  stand  as  it  was  until 
Monday. 

Joe  was  ordered  to  raise  all  the  sunshades  in 
the  conservatory.  Kent  led  Jack  up  and  down 
the  carpeted  aisles  and  tried  to  explain  the 
nature  of  the  different  flowers,  but  found  he 
knew  less  about  them  than  the  child  did  him- 
self. 

"Where  did  you  learn  so  much  about 
flowers?" 


THE   GUEST   OF  HONOR        251 

"Dad    takes    me    up    in    Central    Park   and 
teaches  me  their  names.     This  is  an  azalea 
isn't  it?" 

"I  guess  so,"  Kent  grunted,  and  he  smiled  at 
his  own  ignorance.  "You  see  I  don't  come  in 
here  very  often.  I  don't  have  time.  I  guess  I 
haven't  been  in  here  in  a  year." 

"Don't  you  like  flowers?" 

"Yes,  I  like  them  well  enough.  They  look 
prettier  this  morning  than  I  have  ever  seen 
them  look  before.  Everything  seems  to  be  in 
bloom,  doesn't  it? — and  the  birds  seem  to  be 
singing  softer — I  guess  they  are  singing  for 
you.  They  yell  so  sometimes  when  I  am  work- 
ing in  the  library  that  I  have  to  shut  my  win- 
dow, but  they  seem  quite  polite  this  morning— 
I  like  them." 

During  the  conversation  Kent  had  plucked 
a  blossom  or  a  bud  from  the  many  different 
plants  and  stuck  the  stem  under  the  patches  on 
Jack's  dress  and  when  he  left  the  conservatory 
he  looked  like  a  walking  flower  bed,  for  each 
patch  was  partly  hidden  with  a  bright  flower, 
and  each  curl  held  a  different  colored  pansy. 

"This  is  a  fine  day,"  Kent  remarked  pleas- 


252        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

antly  as  he  gazed  up  at  the  sun  which  was  glar- 
ing down  through  his  library  window.  "How 
about  that  automobile  ride?" 

"I'm  ready,"  Jack  replied  quickly.  "But 
these  flowers  will  blow  off,  won't  they?" 

"Let  them  blow  off,  there  are  plenty  more 
where  they  came  from,"  Kent  growled  boast- 
fully. 

The  open  car  was  ordered  and  Jack  was 
bundled  up  in  one  of  Helen's  seal-lined  auto- 
mobile coats.  Kent  laughed  when  he  tried  to 
turn  the  sleeves  up  to  give  Jack  the  use  of  his 
hands,  but  found  it  impossible,  for  after  he  had 
taken  a  few  rolls  in  each  sleeve,  he  found  the 
ends  were  closed  and  hung  in  balls  many 
inches  below  the  child's  fingers. 

Jack  clapped  them  together  playfully  and 
tumbled  to  the  floor  when  he  tried  to  walk  and 
stepped  on  the  bottom  of  the  coat  which  lay  in 
circles  around  his  feet. 

"I'll  have  to  hold  this  up  like  the  ladies  do 
their  dresses,  won't  I?"  and  he  tried  to  catch 
hold  of  the  coat,  but  found  he  was  deprived  of 
the  use  of  his  hands  which  were  buried  in  the 
long  sleeves.  Kent  smiled  as  he  watched  him 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        253 

struggling  to  raise  the  heavy  garment  above 
his  feet. 

Rosamond  had  watched  the  scene  carefully 
and  studied  her  father's  affectionate  attentions 
and  remarks  with  much  pride  and  satisfaction. 
"There  seems  to  be  more  coat  than  man  there." 

"Don't  you  believe  it.  There  is  more  real 
man  in  that  coat  than  anyone  ever  dreamed 
of." 

"I  guess  you  are  right,  father,"  she  said  as 
she  watched  him  draw  Helen's  blue  cap  down 
over  his  curls  that  left  nothing  but  large  blue 
eyes  showing. 

While  Kent  was  showing  Jack  through  the 
conservatory,  the  ladies  were  holding  a  meet- 
ing and  they  decided  that  they  would  not  ac- 
company their  father  on  the  automobile  trip  in 
order  to  let  him  be  alone  with  Jack  as  much  as 
possible.  Each  had  planned  some  plausible 
excuse  to  offer  when  they  were  invited,  but 
they  discovered,  much  to  their  surprise,  that 
no  excuses  or  explanations  were  necessary,  for 
when  Kent  pulled  Helen's  little  cap  down  over 
the  curls,  he  took  Jack  under  his  arm,  strolled 
out  to  the  car,  tucked  him  under  the  robe  and 


254        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

ordered  the  driver  to  drive  to  the  Country 
Club. 

As  they  drove  along  the  edge  of  the  Hudson, 
he  explained  with  childish  enthusiasm  the  dif- 
ferent places  of  interest.  Jack  became  an  ob- 
ject of  curiosity  at  the  Country  Club,  but  Kent 
forgot  to  even  notice  any  of  his  fellow-mem- 
bers, for  his  time  and  attention  were  complete- 
ly absorbed  by  Jack's  many  questions. 

Kent  was  seldom  seen  at  the  Club;  his  great 
business  interests  claimed  all  of  his  time  and 
robbed  him  of  any  pleasure  of  the  many  clubs 
of  which  he  was  a  member.  His  great  finan- 
cial power  and  his  gruff  personality  held  him 
aloof  from  any  familiar  questions  regarding 
the  patched  gingham  dress,  which  held  the  at- 
tention of  every  person  in  the  large  room. 

Kent's  ignorance  of  plain  lemonade  was  hu- 
morously displayed,  for  it  was  ordered  and  dis- 
cussed and  re-ordered  at  least  a  half  dozen 
times  before  he  could  decide  just  what  kind  of 
a  drink  was  best  for  the  child's  health.  He 
thought  a  cold  drink  would  make  him  cold  and 
a  hot  drink  might  make  him  hot. 

"Why  not  make  one  of  plain,  pure  water  of 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        255 

ordinary  temperature  and  put  no  ice  in  it?"  the 
waiter  inquired,  after  he  had  shifted  his  weight 
from  one  leg  to  the  other  many  times. 

"I  guess  that  is  a  good  idea,"  Kent  answered 
after  he  had  thought  it  over  carefully,  but  JacK* 
said  that  he  wanted  a  little  piece  of  ice  in  it  and 
there  was  no  further  argument  on  the  subject. 

"Yes,  put  a  little  ice  in  it,"  Kent  suggested, 
as  if  the  idea  were  his  own,  "but  don't  put  any 
cherries  or  acid  or  any  of  that  truck  in  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  put  a  red  cherry  in  it !"  Jack  ex- 
claimed. 

"Well,  put  a  couple  of  cherries  in  it  and 
hurry  up  with  it.  I  could  have  made  a  dozen 
lemonades  while  you  have  been  standing 
here!" 

The  lemonade  was  served  and  Kent  watched 
it  and  the  cherries  disappear  and  interrupted 
Jack's  party  by 'asking  between  each  sup  if  it 
was  good. 

Jack  was  carefully  wrapped  in  the  large  coat 
and  they  started  back  for  the  Kent  mansion. 

The  slated  roof  of  the  Kent  mansion  on 
Fifth  Avenue  and  the  old  tin  roof  that  covered 
the  ceiling  of  the  garret  room  on  Twenty- 


256        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

ninth  Street  were  heated  by  the  same  warm, 
friendly  sun,  but  the  walls  of  the  Kent  house 
surrounded  more  happiness  than  they  had  for 
many  years  and  the  slanting  ceiling  of  the  gar- 
get room  hung  over  more  loneliness  than  it  had 
ever  covered  since  it  sheltered  Weatherbee's 
tall  figure. 

There  was  a  constant  buzz  of  joy  and  happi- 
ness in  the  Kent  house.  The  flowers  in  the 
large  conservatory  seemed  to  look  more  beau- 
tiful than  they  had  ever  appeared  before,  and 
the  birds  seemed  to  swing  on  the  wire  swings 
of  their  gilded  cages  and  sing  sweeter  than 
they  had  ever  sung  before,  but  in  the  little 
garret  room  the  conversation  between  Warner 
and  Weatherbee  jerked  and  dragged.  Each 
man  tried  to  force  himself  to  talk  and  cheer  the 
other  and  each  one's  efforts  were  noticed  by 
the  other. 

Each  man  would  unconsciously  pause  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence  and  lapse  into  a  long 
silence.  Weatherbee  had  cooked  a  more 
elaborate  dinner  than  had  been  served  in  the 
little  room  for  many  weeks,  but  it  hadn't 
tasted  the  same  as  the  scanty  ones  where  all 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        257 

three  had  sat  together  and  joked  over  the 
absence  of  butter;  sometimes  sugar  and  an- 
other time  meat,  perhaps,  but  today  there  was 
more  of  the  dinner  untouched  than  had  been 
eaten.  Each  man  tried  to  convince  the  other 
how  happy  he  was,  or  should  be,  over  Jack's 
future,  but  the  statements  were  forced  and  the 
words  were  pushed  and  crowded  from  their 
throats. 

The  financial  success  that  had  entered  the 
little  room  seemed  like  an  unwelcome  speck  on 
the  large,  lonely  gap  which  Jack's  absence 
caused.  The  little  ray  of  sunlight  which  had 
crawled  in  through  the  tiny  window  looked 
lonely  as  it  rested  on  the  old  rag  carpet. 

Weatherbee  sauntered  to  the  window,  drew 
the  faded  curtain  aside  and  gazed  up  at  the 
clear  blue  sky.  As  he  held  the  colorless  rag  in 
his  left  hand,  he  pushed  the  right  hand,  in  to  the 
pocket  of  his  trousers  and  the  sound  of  the 
silver  change  surprised  him  and  he  drew  his 
hand  away  quickly.  He  had  forgotten  that  he 
possessed  such  a  thing  as  money. 

"Let's  get  out  of  here,  Warner,"  he  said  im- 
patiently. "Let's  get  on  the  top  of  a  bus  and 
ride  up  Fifth  Avenue." 


258        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

As  the  heavy  bus  rattled  its  way  up  Fifth 
Avenue,  Weatherbee  studied  the  occupants  of 
each  automobile  carefully  and  he  glanced  from 
the  corners  of  his  eyes  at  each  window  as  they 
passed  the  Kent  mansion,  but  the  little  face  he 
was  watching  for  was  missing,  and  his  eyes 
wandered  back  into  each  automobile  that 
passed. 

The  traffic  officer  at  Fifty-ninth  Street 
brought  all  vehicles  going  either  way  on  Fifth 
Avenue  to  a  stop  and  ordered  the  cross-town 
cars  to  move  quickly.  Weatherbee  searched 
each  car  carefully  until  his  eye  fell  on  Kent  sit- 
ting with  his  arm  around  a  bundle  of  fur-lined 
cloth.  He  seized  Warner's  arm  and  gripped  it 
tightly.  "There's  Jack!"  he  whispered. 

"Sitting  down  there  in  an  automobile  with 
Kent.  I  wonder  if  he'll  see  us?" 

"Yell  at  him." 

"No,  he  may  look  up,"  and  Weatherbee  rose 
to  his  feet. 

The  officer  signalled  the  Fifth  Avenue 
vehicles  to  move  and  the  large  French  auto- 
mobile whizzed  passed  the  rattling  bus,  but 
Warner  and  Weatherbee  were  not  seen — for 
Jack  was  sleeping  soundly. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THOUGH  Sunday  served  Warner  and 
Weatherbee  with  a  large  share  of  loneliness,  it 
flooded  the  Kent  household  with  happiness, 
Mrs.  Murray  with  excitement  and  Wartle  with 
several  new  wounds  from  his  dull  razor. 

Mrs.  Murray  was  to  become  Mrs.  Wartle  at 
three  o'clock.  She  had  ordered  Wartle  to 
have  the  house  smothered  in  shamrocks,  and 
the  orders  were  obeyed  to  the  best  of  his 
ability. 

He  thought  the  matter  out  carefully  in  his 
own  mind  and  decided  that  he  could  smother 
the  house  as  artistically  as  any  decorator  he 
knew  of  and  by  doing  it,  would  save  at  least 
three  or  four  dollars.  He  talked  the  subject 
over  with  all  the  florists  on  Twenty-ninth 
Street  and  several  on  Third  Avenue  and  the 
lowest  bid  he  received  was  three  dollars,  which 
didn't  include  the  cost  of  the  shamrocks.  He 
informed  each  one  that  he  was  willing  to  pay 
a  dollar  for  the  job,  but  it  wasn't  worth  any 
more. 

259 


260        THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Hall  you  'ave  to  do  his  to  set  the  pots 
haround  hon  the  floor,  hand  then  pick  'em  hup 
hafter  the  knot  his  tied.  Hit  don't  matter 
where  you  set  them — hit's  hall  foolishness 
hanyway,  hand  hif  Hi  can't  get  hit  done  for  ha 
dollar,  Hi  will  do  hit  myself.  Hif  you'll  do  hit 
for  ha  dollar,  Hi'll  let  you  stay  to  the  weddin', 
hand  you  can  'ave  supper  hin  the  bargain.  You 
hare  Hirish,  hand  Mrs.  Murray  won't  mind,  be- 
cause she  doesn't  care  who  his  hat  the  weddin' 
has  long  has  they  hare  Hirish.  You'll  'ave  ha 
good  time.  Mrs.  Murray  has  harranged  with 
Sweeney  to  furnish  the  heating  and  drinking 
hand  she  'as  'ired  some  fiddlers  hand  there's 
going  to  be  music  too !" 

The  temptations  of  the  Wartle-Murray  wed- 
ding didn't  appeal  to  the  florists,  who  had 
other  engagements  to  keep,  so  the  decorations 
were  to  be  made  by  Wartle  who  started  down 
Twenty-ninth  Street  with  a  tiny  pot  of  sham- 
rocks under  each  arm. 

There  was  no  demand  for  such  flowers  in  the 
neighborhood  and  after  he  had  visited  each 
florist,  he  succeeded  in  gathering  seven  small 
plants  and  five  of  the  seven  had  long  since 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        261 

passed  their  useful  age  and  the  withered  stems 
hung  lifelessly  over  the  edges  of  the  little  clay 
pots.  He  scattered  the  seven  pots  about  the 
room  and  replaced  them  several  times  until  he 
thought  each  plant  made  an  excellent  showing. 
He  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room  and  eyed 
each  decorated  spot  carefully. 

"Well,  the  place  hisn't  smothered,  but  hit 
looks  very  tasty." 

He  wondered  what  sort  of  an  impression 
they  would  make  on  a  person  coming  into  the 
room,  seeing  them  as  they  entered;  so  starting 
from  the  front  steps  he  made  a  hurried  en- 
trance without  becoming  at  all  excited  over 
their  brilliancy. 

"Hit's  because  Hi  fixed  'em  myself  that  they 
don't  startle  me,"  he  said.  "Hif  Hi  'adn't  seen 
em  huntil  Hi  'ad  walked  hinto  the  room,  Hi'm 
sure  hit  would  look  more  flowery." 

He  lowered  the  blue  window  shades,  closed 
the  door,  and  went  to  his  room  mumbling  to 
himself. 

"Hi've  done  my  duty  hand  Hi  know  she'll  be 
tickled.  Hif  she  hisn't  tickled  when  she  sees 
'em,  Hi  know  she'll  be  delighted  when  Hi  tell 


262        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

'er  Hi  fixed  'em  hall  myself  hand  'ow  cheap  Hi 
got  'em." 

He  gazed  into  the  mirror  and  heaved  a  deep 
sigh  as  he  passed  the  ends  of  his  fingers  over 
the  beard,  which  had  been  thriving  for  the  past 
two  days. 

"Hi  wish  hit  was  hon  the  top  hof  my  'ead 
hinstead  hof  hon  my  face,"  he  whispered  to 
himself,  and  glanced  sadly  at  the  pieces  of 
sticking  plaster  which  covered  the  wounds  in- 
flicted by  the  last  operation. 

"Hi  suppose  she'll  be  hangry  hif  Hi  don't 
shave  for  the  weddin'."  He  stood  before  the 
mirror  some  time  figuring  out  the  easiest  route 
around  the  different  cuts;  he  applied  the  lather 
and  when  he  had  shaved  around  the  four  pieces 
of  sticking  plaster,  it  was  necessary  to  add 
three  new  pieces  to  cover  the  fresh  cuts. 

"Hi  look  like  ha  prize  fighter,"  he  grunted, 
when  he  looked  at  the  long  white  strip  that 
covered  most  of  his  upper  lip.  "Hit's  hall  'er 
doings,  though,  she  hinsisted  hon  hit.  Hif  Hi 
'ad  'ad  my  hown  way,  Hi'd  never  'ave  cut  ha 
'air  hoff  my  face  hand  hif  Hi  keep  hon  trying  to 
shave  myself,  Hi'll  cut  my  face  hoff  yet.  Hi 
know  Hi  will!" 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        263 

He  had  his  own  peculiar  system  of  keeping 
books.  Each  penny  he  paid  out  was  carefully 
marked  down  in  one  book  and  the  name  of  the 
article  given  which  caused  its  departure.  In 
another  book  he  kept  a  careful  account  of  each 
penny  that  found  its  way  into  the  Wartle  es- 
tablishment and  he  often  sat  for  hours  tracing' 
the  whereabouts  of  a  penny  that  had  disap- 
peared unaccounted  for,  and  once  after  two 
days'  strenuous  figuring,  he  traced  a  single 
copper  out  of  the  front  window  into  the  hands 
of  an  organ  grinder — but  only  once.  It  had 
never  happened  but  once  and  would  doubtless 
never  happen  again. 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  white  iron  bed, 
which  still  possessed  a  brass  knob  on  one  cor- 
ner, and  went  over  the  expenses  of  the  wed- 
ding, which  were  crawling  up  beyond  his  ex- 
pectations. He  had  purchased  a  new  white 
shirt  that  resembled  linen — which  tallied  up 
eighty-three  cents  on  the  expense  list.  A 
collar  of  the  same  quality  for  fifteen  cents  and 
a  red  bow  tie  which  looked  like  a  continuation 
of  his  face.  He  pressed  the  end  of  his  fore- 
finger against  the  large  piece  of  sticking 


264        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

plaster  which  was  hanging  on  his  upper  lip  and 
grumbled  to  himself,  "Hi  wonder  hif  she'll 
hexpect  me  to  call  for  'er  with  ha  'ack  hor  hif 
she'll  be  satisfied  to  walk  hover.  Hit  hisn't  far, 
hand  the  walk  will  do  'er  good  hanyway." 

After  more  than  fifteen  minutes  had  been 
spent  in  silent  meditation  it  was  decided  to 
walk  the  bride  to  her  new  home.  He  felt  sure 
she  would  growl  a  little  at  the  start,  but  he 
knew  that  she  would  feel  just  as  well  after  she 
arrived,  so  the  new  white  shirt,  the  collar  and 
red  tie  were  donned,  the  corners  of  the  different 
pieces  of  sticking  plaster  were  pressed  care- 
fully into  their  places,  the  moth-eaten  hat  was 
tipped  a  trifle  to  the  right  ear,  and  with  the 
family  umbrella  he  started  for  his  bride. 

News  of  the  Wartle-Murray  wedding  had 
caused  a  great  deal  of  excitement  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Some  considered  it  a  great  match, 
others  considered  it  a  foolish  one.  Some  re- 
ferred to  it  as  a  financial  landing  for  Mrs. 
Murray.  She  had  confided  to  her  most  inti- 
mate friends  and  friends  of  theirs  the  nature  of 
her  contract  with  Wartle,  and  she  always 
spoke  of  it  as  her  "widdin'  contract." 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        265 

When  she  informed  her  friend  Hannigan, 
the  cab  driver,  that  she  was  to  become  Mrs. 
Wartle,  he  threw  up  both  hands,  "He's  a 
miser!"  But  he  lowered  them  quickly  and 
yelled  "Bully  fer  you!"  when  Mrs.  Murray  told 
him  that  she  had  a  written  contract  whereby 
everything  that  he  possessed,  including  him- 
self, became  hers  before  the  knot  was  tied,  and 
at  her  request,  Hannigan  agreed  to  be  best 
man.  He  explained  to  her  that  he  had  never 
met  Wartle,  but  she  assured  him  that  that 
didn't  make  any  difference. 

"He  don't  know  anny  one  that's  goin'  to  be 
at  the  widdin'.  None  of  his  frin's  is  comin'. 
No  one  is  goin'  to  be  there  but  moi  frin's.  Oi 
didn't  allow  him  to  invoit  anny  of  his  Johnny- 
Bulls.  It's  goin'  to  be  a  Irish  widdin'.  Oi've 
invoited  iverybody.  The  house  is  goin'  to  be 
smothered  with  shamrocks,  an'  it's  goin'  to  be 
as  swell  a  widdin'  as  has  bin  pulled  off  on  the 
East  Soid  of  New  York  City  in  years!" 

Hannigan  congratulated  her  on  her  business 
ability  and  agreed  to  bring  his  friends  and  be 
on  hand  at  the  appointed  time. 

"Bring  anny  of  yer  frinds  an'  tell  thim  to 


266        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

bring  their  frin's.  Sweeney  is  goin'  ter  furnish 
the  grub  and  there'll  be  plinty  fer  all — and 
Sweeney  is  goin'  to  be  there  himsilf." 

She  had  given  up  her  rooms  and  informed 
the  landlord  that  she  would  vacate  them  not 
later  than  Sunday  noon.  She  owed  him  a  few 
weeks'  rent,  but  explained  the  circumstances, 
including  her  "widdin'  "  contract  and  assured 
him  the  rent  would  be  paid  as  soon  as  she  took 
possession  of  the  Wartle  estate.  She  had  en- 
gaged the  boys  around  the  neighborhood  to 
carry  the  furniture  and  all  of  her  belongings 
over  to  her  new  home.  They  worked  faith- 
fully and  had  swept  and  scrubbed  the  floors  of 
the  two  small  rooms  for  their  next  occupant, 
and  they  were  also  to  be  paid  liberally  from 
the  Wartle  estate. 

Anne  McCabe,  who  was  Mrs.  Murray's 
neighbor  and  lifelong  friend,  was  to  be  brides- 
maid and  had  promised  to  see  her  through  and 
stick  to  the  finish.  When  Mrs.  Murray  first 
broke  the  news  to  her  and  asked  her  to  stand 
up  with  her,  she  replied,  "Oi'll  be  there,  Mur- 
ray, wid  hoigh  heeled  shlippers  on  both  me 
feet." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        267 

She  was  surprised  when  she  heard  that  Mrs. 
Murray  was  going  to  marry  an  Englishman, 
but  sincerely  approved  of  the  match  after  she 
had  listened  to  Mrs.  Murray's  side  of  the  story. 

"Oi'm  not  gittin'  lazy,  Anne,  but  Oi'm  tired 
of  chasin'  me  knuckles  up  an'  down  a  wash- 
board. Oi  know  Wartle's  an  awful  thing  to 
look  at,  but  he's  funny — sure,  he's  as  good  as 
a  circus  to  have  about  the  house.  I  can't  look 
at  'im  without  laughin' — and  he's  as  aisy  to 
handle  as  a  lame  horse.  He's  got  a  gorgeous 
house,  plinty  of  money.  It's  all  moine  and 
Oi'm  takin'  no  chances.  He  has  no  bum  rela- 
tions hangin'  around  loik  the  last  one  Oi  was 
toid  to.  Sure  Murray  had  more  hungry  frill's 
and  relations  hangin'  around  than  ye'  would 
foind  in  a  'Poor  House.'  Oi  used  to  have  to 
put  me  breakfast  under  me  pillow  at  noight  ar 
they'd  have  it  aten  before  Oi'd  git  up  in  the 


morninV 


They  viewed  the  match  from  every  stand- 
point and  both  agreed  that  Mrs.  Murray  had 
the  best  of  it,  "goin'  and  comin'." 

"Sure  Murray  give  me  the  worst  of  it  from 
the  day  Oi  married  him.  He  worked  me  loik  a 


268        THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR 

Jew  would  work  a  Christian,  but  it  was  a  good 
lesson — it  saved  me  gittin'  stung  ag'in.  Oi've 
had  a  lawyer  look  over  this  contract  and  he 
siz  all  Oi  'ave  to  do  is  to  sit  back  an'  take  the 
money.  He  siz  Oi'm  the  first  American  bride 
that  has  ever  spilt  anny  English  coin  in  the 
United  States.  He  had  his  toipwriter  copy  off 
the  contract  an'  is  goin'  to  have  it  printed  in 
the  paper.  He  siz  it'll  make  thim  hairesses 
that  go  to  Europe  wid  a  tub  of  money  an'  give 
it  to  them  fureigners  fer  marryin'  thim,  sick 
whin  they  raid  it.  He  siz  the  King  of  Eng- 
land'll  go  nutty  wid  rage  whin  he  hears  it." 

Both  were  dressed  for  the  wedding  and 
waiting  for  the  groom  to  appear.  It  was  quite 
evident  that  red  was  their  favorite  color.  The 
dressmaker  insisted  on  making  Mrs.  Murray  a 
low  neck  gown,  but  she  positively  refused  and 
laughed  at  the  idea. 

"Oi'll  be  covered  from  the  chin  to  the  fluer. 
Sure  Oi  have  a  neck  on  me  loik  a  withered 
pickle  and  Oi'm  not  anxious  to  show  it  to 
everyone,  an'  Oi  want  sleeves  in  the  dress  too 
an'  Oi  want  thim  to  come  clean  down  to  me 
knuckles,"  and  her  orders  were  carried  out  to 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        269 

the  letter.  The  sleeves  came  to  her  finger  tips 
and  the  collar  of  her  dress  reached  the  point  of 
her  long,  thin  chin. 

It  was  the  wish  of  both  ladies  to  have  their 
dresses  for  this  particular  occasion  made  of  the 
same  material  and  exactly  the  same  style. 
They  were  both  made  by  the  same  dressmaker. 
The  black  silk  for  the  dresses  and  the  red  silk 
lace  and  ribbons  for  the  trimmings  were  pur- 
chased by  Mrs.  Murray  and  everything,  in- 
cluding the  making,  was  to  be  paid  for  out  of 
the  Wartle  purse.  Each  had  arranged  the 
other's  hair  in  the  very  latest  style,  and  Mrs. 
Murray's  keen  sense  of  humor  brought  forth  a 
hearty  laugh  every  time  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  herself  in  the  mirror. 

"Sure  ye  are  a  picture,  Ann,  but  Oi  look  as 
if  Oi  had  bin  hit  wid  somethin'  that  spattered 
whin  it  struck  me,"  and  she  re-arranged  the 
red  lace  shawl  which  was  hanging  over  her 
head.  "Sure  Oi  hain't  had  these  whoite  gloves 
on  an  hour  yit  an'  they're  black  already!" 

Miss  McCabe  assured  her  that  she  had  never 
looked  as  beautiful. 

"Oi  may  look  beautiful,  but  Oi  feel  as  if  Oi 


270        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

was  screwed  up  in  a  vice.  These  shlippers  are 
pinchin'  the  feet  off  me.  Ann,  do  ye  think 
me  old  tan  lace  shoes  would  show  from  under 
this  dress?" 

"No,"  was  Miss  McCabe's  prompt  and  wel- 
come reply.  "Sure  nobudy  will  be  lookin'  at 
yer  feet." 

The  white  slippers  were  discarded  and  the 
old  brown  lace  shoes  which  had  done  service 
for  so  many  months  took  their  place. 

"Ye'll  have  to  lace  thim  for  me,  Ann,  for  Oi 
can't  shtoop  in  this  rig." 

"Sure  Oi  can't  nather.  Sit  down  an'  put  yer 
foot  up  on  the  chair  here  an'  Oi'll  do  the  best 
Oi  can." 

After  the  shoes  were  laced,  she  stood  up  to 
see  if  they  showed  and  to  the  delight  of  both 
they  were  not  visible.  "Do  they  show  whin 
Oi'msettin'?" 

"No,  yer  dress  touches  the  floor  an'  no  one 
would  ever  know  that  ye  had  anny  feet  if  ye 
didn't  tell  'em." 

"Thank  God  for  that!"  Mrs.  Murray  sighed 
with  a  great  deal  of  relief. 

The  occupants  of  the  different  apartments 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        271 

on  each  side  of  the  street  who  had  not  received 
invitations  to  the  wedding,  were  seated  at  the 
windows  to  watch  Mrs.  Murray  depart  for  her 
new  home.  A  large  crowd  of  friendly  children 
had  gathered  in  front  of  her  house  and  waited 
for  the  bride  to  appear.  Some  of  the  little 
soiled  hands  were  filled  with  rice,  some  were 
empty,  while  a  few  others  waited  with  some 
small  flowers  they  had  plucked  from  a  lonely 
plant  which  had  been  reared  on  a  window  sill 
of  a  crowded  flat.  A  friendly  cheer  went  up 
from  the  little  voices  when  they  spied  Wartle's 
small,  fat  figure  slowly  approaching  under  the 
moth-eaten  silk  hat.  The  many  pieces  of  stick- 
ing plaster  on  his  face  caused  a  great  deal  of 
wonderment  in  the  minds  of  the  little  folk. 
Some  thought  that  he  had  been  in  a  fight, 
while  others  said  it  was  "fashin'ble" — that 
people  always  did  that  to  their  faces  when  they 
were  going  to  be  married  and  that  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray would  have  her  face  fixed  that  way  too, 
when  she  came  down  stairs. 

Wartle  elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd 
and  mounted  the  stairs  to  Miss  McCabe's 
rooms.  Mrs.  Murray  answered  his  nervous 


272        THE   GUEST   OF  HONOR 

tap  on  the  door  and  laughed  heartily  as  she 
bade  him  enter. 

"Hare  you  laughing  hat  my  new  necktie?"  he 
asked  with  a  feeble  smile. 

"No,  Oi'm  laughin'  at  what  it's  buttoned  on. 
What  toime  is  it?" 

"Hit's  ha  little  hafter  two." 
"Ye  have  a  two-seated  hack,  hain't  ye?" 
Wartle  hesitated  several  seconds  before  he 
found  his  voice  and  then  announced  in  a  guilty 
tone,  "Hi  'aven't  hany.     Hi  thought  we  could 
walk  hover.     Hit's  such  a  nice  day  hand  hit 
hisn't  far  hand- 
Mrs.  Murray  didn't  give  him  a  chance  to 
explain  further. 

"Go  out  an'  git  the  best  two-seated  hack  ye 
can  hire.  Ye'll  not  walk  me  to  me  own  wed- 
din'.  Ye  Jew  ye — sure  ye  can  walk  if  ye  loik, 
but  Oi'll  roid  or  Oi'll  not  go  at  tall!"  and  she 
assisted  him  out  of  the  door  and  ordered  him 
to  get  white  horses  if  there  were  any  in  the 
city. 

When  Wartle  returned  to  the  street  unac- 
companied by  Mrs.  Murray,  a  bewildered  ex- 
pression crept  into  each  child's  face  and  a  short 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        273 

silence  followed,  but  as  soon  as  they  recovered 
from  the  shock  they  showered  Wartle  with 
more  questions  than  he  could  have  answered  in 
a  whole  day,  even  if  he  had  been  in  his  right 
mind,  but  he  was  not.  He  was  not  only  uncom- 
fortable in  his  new  stiff  shirt  and  collar,  but  he 
was  very  excited,  he  quickened  his  step  to  get 
away  from  the  curious  children,  but  they  fol- 
lowed him,  still  inquiring  for  Mrs.  Murray. 
He  found  himself  completely  surrounded,  and 
was  compelled  to  stop  and  give  an  explanation. 

"For  'Eaven  sake,  keep  quiet,"  he  shouted  as 
he  raised  the  faded  umbrella  high  in  the  air. 
"There  his  nothin'  the  matter.  Hi'm  goin' 
hafter  ha  'ack,  hand  Hi'll  be  back  hin  ha  few 
minutes." 

He  repeated  the  speech  several  times  and 
some  of  the  youngsters  were  satisfied  with  the 
explanation  and  returned  to  await  his  arrival 
at  Mrs.  Murray's  though  others  followed  him 
to  the  stable  and  rode  back  with  him  in  his 
"  'ack." 

Wartle  protested  vigorously  and  tried  hard 
to  keep  the  youngsters  out  of  the  carriage,  but 
they  only  laughed  at  his  excited  chatter  and  as 


many  as  could  crowded  into  the  carriage  and 
those  who  couldn't  rode  on  the  front  with  the 
driver  and  as  many  more  clung  to  the  rear 
springs. 

His  patience  gave  way  entirely  when  the 
ones  who  had  pushed  their  way  into  the  seat 
with  him  insisted  on  knowing  what  had  hap- 
pened to  his  face.  The  perspiration  had  caused 
the  corners  of  the  different  pieces  of  sticking 
plaster  to  curl  up  and  they  saw  the  cuts  under- 
neath and  were  convinced  that  his  face  was 
not  slashed  up  in  that  manner  just  for  style. 

"Did  you  stumble  and  fall?"  one  child  asked, 
but  Wartle  made  no  reply. 

"No,"  one  of  the  thoughtful  ones' grunted, 
"if  he  fell  his  nose  would  be  cut  too.  He 
couldn't  fall  and  hit  both  cheeks  and  his  chin 
and  neck  without  cutting  his  nose." 

"Maybe  something  flew  up  and  hit  him." 

"How  could  anything  fly  up  and  hit  him  in 
the  neck?" 

The  comedian  of  the  party  informed  them 
that  lots  of  people  got  it  in  the  neck. 

"I  bet  he  was  playing  with  the  cat!"  one  of 
the  smaller  ones  whispered  confidentially  to 
her  brother  who  was  seated  on  her  lap. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        275 

They  put   the   question    to   Mr.   Wartle   at 
once,  but  received  no  answer,  but  the  problem 
was  solved  in  their  minds.     It  was  the  cat- 
nothing  but  a  cat  could  reach  under  a  man's 
chin  and  cut  in  that  way. 

"Has  Mrs.  Murray  seen  you  with  your  face 
like  this?"  another  inquired  as  politely  as  his 
curious  little  voice  would  permit,  but  the  ques- 
tion was  ignored  and  Wartle  tapped  the  -floor 
of  the  carriage  nervously  with  his  umbrella. 
He  tried  to  gaze  out  of  the  window,  but  such  a 
luxury  was  prevented  by  the  young  unwelcome 
guests  who  were  standing  on  either  side,  un- 
able to  find  seats.  The  four  short  blocks 
seemed  a  long  tedious  journey  to  Wartle. 

"Hi'll  smother  before  Hi  get  there,"  he 
thought  to  himself  and  when  the  carriage 
stopped  in  front  of  Mrs.  Murray's  the  disap- 
pointed cry  went  up,  "Oh,  are  we  here 
already?"  and  Wartle  had  to  crowd  his  way 
out,  but  the  treat  of  being  in  a  real  carriage 
hadn't  been  offered  to  the  children  of  that 
neighborhood  before  and  they  insisted  on  re- 
maining in  the  vehicle  until  Mrs.  Murray 
arrived. 


276        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

Wartle  explained  timidly  as  he  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  the  well  spots  on  his  face, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  get  two  white  horses, 
but  he  got  one. 

"Hi  got  one  white  one  hand  one  kind  hof  ha 
yellow  one.  The  man  honly  'ad  one  white  one 
left.  'E  used  to  'ave  two,  but  the  hother  one 
died." 

"Oi'll  bet  this  one  is  nearly  dead  or  ought 
to  be." 

When  they  reached  the  front  steps  she 
threw  up  both  hands  when  she  glanced  at  the 
horses  with  their  heads  hanging  so  low  that 
their  chins  nearly  touched  the  pavement. 

"Per  the  love  of  Heavins,  look  at  that  pair  of 
goats  to  draw  annyone  to  a  weddin'.  Even  the 
driver's  sleepin',"  she  gasped  when  she  spied 
the  dozing  figure  sitting  on  the  seat  with  his 
chin  resting  on  his  chest. 

The  tails  of  the  horses  were  worn  quite  short 
from  constant  labor.  The  flies  kept  them  mov- 
ing, and  they  had  whipped  the  reins  from  the 
hands  of  their  guide,  who  was  slumbering 
peacefully,  and  they  lay  among  their  feet  on 
the  pavement. 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR        277 

A  cheer  went  up  from  the  little  friends  when 
Mrs.  Murray  appeared  on  the  steps  draped  in 
her  red  lace  veil. 

"Yell  louder,"  she  exclaimed,  after  she  had 
taken  in  the  picture  with  one  disgusted  glance. 
"Yell,  and  see  if  ye  can't  wake  thim  two  mules 
and  the  driver  up,"  and  a  roar  went  out  from 
the  little  throats  that  succeeded  in  bringing 
the  man  on  the  seat  to  his  senses,  but  the  flies 
held  the  attention  of  the  rear  end  of  the  horses 
and  their  tails  whipped  to  and  fro  while  their 
heads  still  hung  as  if  in  a  quiet  dream. 

When  Mrs.  Murray  closed  the  door  of  the 
carriage,  several  little  flowers,  and  a  few 
kernels  of  rice  found  their  way  through  the 
broken  window,  she  waved  her  long  thin  hand, 
smiled  and  bowed  her  head  at  the  friendly  lit- 
tle tots  who  were  crying  at  the  top  of  their 
small  voices,  "Good  luck — God  bless  you,"  as 
the  drowsy  horses  walked  slowly  up  the  street. 

When  she  stepped  in  the  hall  of  the  Wartle 
home  she  searched  the  walls  and  floor  care- 
fully and  stood  for  several  seconds  before  she 
spoke. 

Wartle  studied  the  surprised  expression  on 


278        THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR 

her  face  and  interrupted  the  silence.  '  'Ave 
you  forgot  something?"  he  whispered. 

"No,  OiVe  not  forgot  nothin',"  she  answered 
sharply,  "but  you  have!" 

Wartle  looked  blankly  at  the  old  umbrella  in 
his  left  hand  and  felt  for  his  hat  which  he 
found  resting  on  the  back  of  his  head.  "No,  Hi 
'ave  heverything." 

"Where  -is  thim  shamrocks?"  she  growled 
in  a  low  sarcastic  tone. 

A  smile  crept  over  Wartle's  face.  He  raised 
both  hands  with  much  assurance.  "Ho,  Hi 
'ave  them  hall  hin  'ere,"  and  he  threw  open  the 
door  leading  to  the  front  room  and  rushed  in 
to  raise  the  curtains. 

Mrs.  Murray  made  a  slow  stately  entrance 
into  the  room  and  after  she  had  surveyed  it 
with  one  glance,  sank  into  the  nearest  chair, 
looked  steadily  at  Wartle,  who  had  re- 
moved the  hat  and  was  holding  it  far  from  his 
side  to  be  sure  he  wouldn't  ruffle  any  of  the 
silk.  He  rested  a  large  portion  of  his  heavy 
little  figure  on  the  handle  of  the  umbrella  and 
was  smiling  contentedly,  but  the  smile  van- 
ished as  he  watched  the  angry  expression  on 
Mrs.  Murray's  face. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        279 

She  looked  at  him,  then'at  Miss  McCabe  and 
back  at  the  withered  shamrocks.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  pushed  the  tan-covered  feet 
far  out  onto  the  floor,  and  shook  her  head 
silently  for  several  seconds  before  she  found 
words  to  express  her  disappointment  and  dis- 
gust. 

"Well,  ye  scar-faced  piker !"  she  whispered 
slowly.  "Ye  scar-faced  piker.  Ye're  cheaper 
than  a  piker.  A  piker  is  a  spendthrift  along- 
soid  of  a  cheap  onion  loik  ye  are.  Here  Oi've 
bin  crackin'  up  this  widdin'  to  all  me  frinds 
an'  tellin'  'em  how  the  house  was  to  be  smoth- 
ered wid  shamrocks  an'  this  is  what  Oi  git. 
Look  at  it!  Seven  measly  shrubs  that  are  a 
disgrace  to  Ireland.  Take  thim  out  of  here, 
take  thim  out  back  of  the  house,  take  thim 
anny  place,  take  thim  out  of  me  soight.  Oi 
wouldn't  have  anny  of  me  frin's  see  'em. 
There'll  be  no  decorations.  Oi'll  not  be  mar- 
ried in  a  house  with  a  few  pieces  of  withered 
fuzz  loik  thim  settin'  around.  They  look  as  if 
they  had  just  got  back  from  some  old  man's 
funeral.  Go  on,  Oi  tell  ye,  take  'em  out  er  Oi'll 
throw  thim  out  into  the  street!" 


280        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

While  Wartle  gathered  the  small  pots  to- 
gether, he  mumbled  in  a  sad,  quivering  voice 
that  he  had  done  the  best  he  could. 

"Hi  rented  hevery  shamrock  that  was  hin 
the  neighborhood.  Hi  went  to  hevery  flower 
shop  there  his.  Hi  would  'ave  rented  some 
hother  kind  hof  flowers,  but  you  said  you  didn't 
want  hanything  hin  the  'ouse  but  shamrocks." 

His  explanation  and  trembling  voice 
touched  Mrs.  Murray's  soft  spot  and  she  threw 
her  hands  into  the  air  and  roared  hilariously, 
when  he  stumbled  over  the  small  rug  and  fell 
headlong  onto  the  floor,  throwing  the  plants 
against  the  wall. 

After  he  had  obeyed  Mrs.  Murray's  next 
order,  he  proved  that  he  was  more  at  home 
with  a  broom  and  dust-pan  in  his  hands  than 
he  was  with  flowers. 

"Ye  can  lave  thim  in  the  room,"  she  said  as 
she  smiled  at  Miss  McCabe,  "and  put  the 
broom  and  dust-pan  away." 

She  arranged  the  remaining  shamrocks  on 
the  small  table  in  the  center  of  the  room  as 
Wartle  made  his  exit. 

"Oi    can't    help    laughin'    at    'im.     He's    so 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        281 

rattled  he  don't  know  whither  he's  on  his  head 
or  his  feet,  and  the  miser  is  so  stingy  he  won't 
go  to  a  barber,  but  tries  to  shave  himself  and 
he  has  his  fat  face  nearly  chopped  off  'm." 

Hannigan  drove  up  with  his  own  cab,  and 
the  two  ladies  hastened  to  the  door  to  greet 
him. 

"He's  loaded  to  the  neck,"  Mrs.  Murray 
whispered  as  she  watched  him  climb  down  off 
the  seat  with  his  whip  in  his  hand. 

"What  is  he  bringing  the  whip  in  for?"  Miss 
McCabe  asked. 

"Sure  someone  would  swipe  it  if  he  left  it 
out  there.  Don't  say  annything  to  him  about 
drinkin',  fer  he  has  an  orful  timper  and  he 
foights  at  the  drop  of  the  hat.  Oi  don't  know 
what  he'll  do  whin  he  sees  Wartle.  Ye  know 
they've  niver  met  each  other.  Lord,  he's 
pickled — look  at  'im!  He's  bringin'  the  horse 
up  on  the  walk  to  tie  him  to  the  iron  fince." 

"The  police  won't  lit  'im  shtand  there,  will 
they?" 

"They  will  whin  they  foind  out  it's  Hanni- 
gan's  horse.  Sure  ivery  cop  in  New  York 
knows  'Tom  Hannigan'  an'  they  all  love  'm." 


282        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

He  mounted  the  steps  in  an  unsteady  digni- 
fied manner  and  greeted  the  ladies  quietly, 
making  no  apologies  for  his  condition.  He 
held  fast  to  his  whip  while  being  presented  to 
Wartle  and  gripped  his  hand  tightly  while  he 
leaned  far  forward  and  squinted  at  the  differ- 
ent pieces  of  sticking  plaster.  He  threw  a 
quizzical  glance  at  Mrs.  Murray,  then  viewed 
the  face  carefully  again  before  he  acknowl- 
edged the  introduction. 

"Yer  face  looks  loik  a  piece  of  cheese  that 
the  rats  had  been  gnawin'  at,"  he  remarked 
quietly,  bending  over  in  Wartle's  direction  so 
far  that  he  lost  his  balance. 

Wartle  caught  him  by  the  shoulders  and 
teetered  him  back  gently  to  a  standing  posi- 
tion. "Hi  was  nervous  when  Hi  was  shaving 
han'  the  razor  slipped." 

"Shlipped,"  Hannigan  grunted,  "ye  look  as 
if  ye  fell  on  it!" 

After  he  had  complained  of  the  room  being 
extremely  hot,  Mrs.  Murray  and  Miss  McCabe 
assisted  him  and  his  whip  into  Wartle's  sleep- 
ing room  which  adjoined  the  parlor  and  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  him  to  lie  down  until  the 
ceremony  was  to  be  performed. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        283 

Sweeney  arrived  with  three  of  his  choice 
waiters.  All  three  were  related  to  him  and 
had  been  schooled  under  his  personal  direction 
and  knew  as  much  about  a  piece  of  corned  beef 
or  a  cabbage  as  any  human  being  should  know 
who  was  obliged  to  eat  them. 

The  two  ladies  and  Mr.  Sweeney  directed 
the  arrangement  of  the  dining-room,  which 
was  located  in  the  basement,  and  it  was  soon 
put  in  readiness  for  the  guests,  who  were  ar- 
riving in  parties  of  fives  and  sixes.  The  house 
was  soon  filled.  The  parlor  in  which  the  cere- 
mony was  to  take  place  was  quickly  packed. 
Each  step  of  the  stairs  served  as  a  seat  for 
three,  and  the  narrow  hallway  was  crowded 
with  standees  eager  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
groom,  whose  frightened  embarrassment  had 
forced  him  to  hide  himself  in  one  of  the  small 
closets. 

Mrs.  Murray  squeezed  her  way  through  the 
crowd,  shaking  hands  and  "God  blessin'  "  each 
one  with  a  broad  smile  and  a  pat  on  the  shoul- 
der. She  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  and 
threw  kisses  at  those  seated  on  the  steps. 


284        THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"Gratin's  to  ye  all,"  she  yelled.  "Oi'd  loik  to 
shake  yer  hands,  but  Oi  can't  git  up  there  wid- 
out  a  balloon.  Lord,  ain't  it  hot,  and  some 
frind  has  pinched  me  handkerchief." 

"Is  this  yourn,  Mrs.  Murray?" 

"It  is,"  she  answered.  "Sure  Ann  McCabe 
made  it  fer  me  herself  an'  it  ain't  big  enough  to 
dry  a  floi's  face  wid.  Oi'm  afraid  to  put  it  near 
me  nose  for  fear  Oi'll  inhale  it." 

The  talk  and  laughter  fell  to  a  whispering 
buzz  when  it  was  learned  that  Father  Gorman 
was  elbowing  his  way  up  the  steps.  Those  in 
the  hall  crowded  toward  each  wall  allowing 
him  to  pass  into  the  parlor. 

"Well,  Father,  this  is  goin'  some,  ain't  it?" 
Mrs.  Murray  exclaimed  as  she  shook  his  hand, 
and  her  face  was  covered  with  a  smile  that  ex- 
tended from  one  ear  to  the  other.  "It  looks 
loik  the  Hudson-Fulton  celebration,  only  Oi 
haven't  got  anny  boats  or  water."  She  leaned 
forward  and  whispered,  "but  Oi  have  plinty  of 
other  wet  stuff  in  the  doinin'-room." 

The  priest  raised  his  hand  in  a  dignified 
manner,  but  the  gesture  was  accompanied  by 
a  smile,  and  Mrs.  Murray  replied  with  a  wink: 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        285 

"Ye've  niver  saw  me  hushband,  have  ye, 
Father?" 

"Not  this  one." 

"Oi  must  show  'im  to  ye.  Ye'll  scream  whin 
ye  see  'im.  He's  built  loik  a  Spanish  union, 
but  he's  not  half  bad  whin  ye  know  'im." 

After  the  groom  had  failed  to  answer  the 
many  numerous  calls  which  Mrs.  Murray 
made  in  a  voice  that  was  heard  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street,  the  guests  became  curious 
and  Mrs.  Murray  grew  quite  excited.  Each 
room  and  corner  of  the  house  was  carefully 
searched  and  when  she  opened  the  closet  door 
adjoining  a  small,  rear  room  on  the  third  floor 
and  saw  Wartle  sitting  in  the  corner,  she 
stepped  back,  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  and  shook  with  laughter. 

"For  the  love  of  Hivin,  will  ye  tell  me  what 
ye're  doin'  in  there?  Ye  look  loik  a  fudgitive. 
Have  ye  done  annything  ye  are  ashamed  of? 
Come  out  of  there,  ye  poor  divil,  shure  ye  are 
meltin'  wid  the  hate.  Ye  look  loik  a  boiled 
lobshter.  Come  out,  Oi  tell  ye." 

She  pulled  him  from  the  closet,  took  the 
handkerchief  from  his  trembling  hand,  wiped 


286        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

the  perspiration  from  his  face,  pressed  the  cor- 
ners of  the  sticking  plaster  into  place  and 
patted  his  shoulder -gently. 

"Cheer  up,  this  is  only  the  beginnin' — stick 
to  me  an'  Oi'll  see  that  no  one  hurts  ye.  Come 
on,  Oi  want  to  show  ye  to  Father  Gorman." 

She  clutched  his  wrist  in  her  hand  tightly 
and  dragged  him  through  the  tittering  crowd 
to  the  parlor. 

"This  is  it!"  were  the  words  she  used  to  pre- 
sent her  future  husband  to  Father  Gorman, 
who  controlled  his  smile  and  greeted  the 
groom  cordially  and  held  his  hand,  while  he 
assured  him  that  there  was  no  cause  for  fear. 

"Is  your  friend  here  who  is  going  to  stand 
up  with  you?" 

"Hi  don't  know,"  he  mumbled.  "Mrs.  Mur- 
ray said  she  'ad  'ired  some  friend  of  'ers  to  do 
that." 

Mrs.  Murray  whispered  to  Father  Gorman 
that  the  man  was  there,  but  she  didn't  think 
would  stand  well  unless  he  was  propped  up 
with  something.  "Ye  better  come  in  an'  take  a 
peek  at  'im  before  Oi  wake  'im  up." 

She   pushed   her   way   through    the    crowd 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        287 

hanging  on  to  Wartle's  wrist.  They  found 
Hannigan  stretched  across  the  bed  snoring 
peacefully,  with  his  whip  gripped  tightly  in 
both  hands. 

"He's  dead  to  the  wurld,  he  ain't  moved 
since  Oi  fetched  'im  in  here." 

The  priest  shook  his  head  sadly  and  mur- 
mured, "Too  bad,  too  bad." 

"His  'e  hintoxicated?"  Wartle  asked  inno- 
cently. 

"No,  ye  rube,  he's  sea-sick  from  walkin' 
around  the  water  fountain  in  Union  Square!" 

It  was  decided  to  let  Hannigan  sleep  and 
have  Sweeney  act  as  best  man. 

"Hi  wonder  'ow  much  Mr.  Sweeney  will 
charge  hus,  'e  his  hawfully  'igh-priced  with 
heverything  hin  'is  restaurant." 

"If  ye  spake  of  money  agin  'till  after  the 
weddin'  is  over  Oi'll  pull  all  the  stickin'  plash- 
ter  off  yer  fat  face!" 

The  situation  was  explained  to  Mr.  Sweeney, 
who  said  he  was  sorry  that  he  was  not  the  first 
choice,  but  would  do  anything  to  start  the 
wedding  bells  ringing. 

After  the  ceremony,   Sweeney  called   Mrs. 


288        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Wartle  aside  and  informed  her  that  there  were 
a  lot  of  "ringers  in"  present  and  wished  to 
know  who  was  to  eat  and  who  was  not  to  eat. 

"Fade  thim  all,  fade  iverybody,  fade  the  ones 
out  on  the  sidewalk,  send  over  and  git  your 
restaurant,  give  everyone  a  plate  wid  some- 
thin'  on  it  and  sind  and  git  Hannigan's  horse  a 
bushel  of  oats  and  a  bunch  of  hay — fade  ivery- 
thing  that  has  a  mouth  on  it !" 

Her  orders  were  obeyed  to  the  letter  and  it 
wasn't  long  before  everyone  held  a  well-filled 
plate  in  their  hand  and  Hannigan's  horse  had 
his  face  buried  in  a  large  bag  of  oats. 

Wartle  made  several  attempts  to  escape,  but 
Mrs.  Wartle  held  tight  to  his  wrist  and  forced 
him  to  stand  in  the  center  of  the  room  and  re- 
ceive the  congratulations. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  before  Mr.  Sweeney, 
who  was  the  last  guest  to  depart,  made  up  his 
mind  to  leave. 

"For  Hivin  sake,  Sweeney,  don't  shake  me 
hand,  it's  loik  a  Cannibul  stake,  it  feels  as  if  a 
shteam  roller  had  run  over  it.  Everybody  has 
held  it  an'  shook  it  an'  squeezed  it,  'till  it's 
numb.  Oi  can't  bind  me  fingers,  but  ye're  a 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR        289 

King — an'  sure  the  name  ain't  good  enough  fer 
ye.  Sure  ye  spread  a  table  here  today  that 
would  make  a  King  look  loik  a  starvin'  pup,  an' 
I've  aten  'till  Oi  can't  walk.  Shake  this  hand, 
but  shake  it  loitly,"  and  she  presented  Sweeney 
with  her  left  hand. 

After  he  had  left  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wartle  stood 
at  the  bedside  and  listened  to  Hannigan  snore 
for  several  minutes  before  deciding  what 
method  they  would  use  to  get  him  home  with- 
out arousing  his  temper. 

"Ye  kape  out  of  soight  an'  lave  'im  to  me. 
He'll  be  nutty  whin  he  foinds  out  the  widdin's 
all  over  an'  he'd  pick  a  scrap  wid  ye  as  soon  as 
he  saw  yer  face.  Shtand  out  there  in  the  hall 
an'  Oi'll  git  'im  away  somehow." 

"I'm  ready,"  Hannigan  muttered  after  Mrs. 
Wartle  had  pulled  at  his  ear  for  several 
seconds. 

"Well,  git  up,  thin,  sure  it's  nearly  twilve 
o'clock  an'  yer  horse  is  ashlape  on  the  soid- 
walk." 

"Well,  ain't  there  goin'  to  be  no  weddin'?" 

"Sure  the  weddin's  all  over  an'  everybody 
is  home  an'  in  bed  but  you,  an'  the  cop  siz  he'll 


290        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

run  yer  horse  in  if  ye  don't  kape  him  off  the 
neighbor's  front  steps." 

"Where  is  the  horse  now?"  and  he  rubbed 
his  eyes  with  his  knuckles  until  he  succeeded 
in  getting  one  of  them  open. 

"Yer  horse  is  waitin'  fer  ye  on  the  front 
shteps.  He's  tryin'  to  git  in  here  to  git  to  bid 
wid  ye,  Oi  guess." 

"And  is  the  weddin'  all  over?" 

"Sure  it's  all  over.  Don't  ye  remember  what 
ye  did?" 

"Did  I  do  anything?" 

"Why,  don't  ye  remember  shtanding  up  wid 
Wartle?" 

Hannigan  rubbed  his  eyes  again  and  smiled 
faintly. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  seein'  him,  but  I  don't 
remember  the  weddin',  I  just  remember  that 
face.  It  looked  as  if  it  had  been  tattooed  with 
whitewash.  I  was  paralyzed  when  I  saw  what 
ye  had  picked  for  a  husband." 

"Sure,  ye  were  paralyzed  long  before  ye  saw 
him,  but  Oi  guess  the  soight  of  Wartle  put  ye 
out  entirely!" 

"It  was  a  knockout  when  I  saw  it.  Did  I 
stand  up  wid  'im  all  right?" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        291 

"Sure  ye  was  foine.  Father  Gorman  had 
hold  of  ye,  but  ye  shtood  up  as  straight  as  an 
arrow.  Don't  ye  remember?1' 

"Yes,  I  remember  everything  now." 

"It'll  all  come  back  to  ye  in  a  day  or  so. 
Come  on  now,  go  home  an'  git  some  shlape." 

She  assisted  him  onto  his  cab  and  he  drove 
away  laughing  to  himself,  "I'll  never  forgit 
that  face." 

"Hit  won't  take  hus  long  to  hexamine  hour 
weddin'  presents,"  Wartle  remarked  dryly, 
when  Mrs.  Murray  returned  to  the  room.  .  "We 
had  ha  lot  hof  people  but  there  his  honly  two 
presents." 

"Sure  that  spoon  is  from  Ann  McCabe.  Who 
is  the  other  one  from?" 

"Hi  don't  know.  Hi  was  hafraid  to  hopen 
hit  until  you  came." 

Mrs.  Murray  opened  the  small  package  and 
removed  a  quaint  silver  pitcher  with  a  card 
tied  to  the  handle  bearing  the  name  of  "John 
Weatherbee." 

"Hit  his  second  'anded,  hisn't  hit?"  Wartle 
grunted. 

"Oi  don't  care  if  it  is,  it  was  moighty  shwell 


292        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

of  him  to  give  it  to  us,  and  we  didn't  invoit  'im 
to  the  weddin'.  It's  one  of  thim  antake  things 
of  his  that  he  is  so  crazy  about.  Sure  he  has 
the  pawn  shop  stuffed  with  these  koind  of 
things." 

"Hi  wonder  'ow  'e  got  this  hout?" 

"Oi  don't  know  and  Oi  don't  care.  He  was 
nice  enough  to  give  it  to  us  an'  it's  none  of  our 
business  how  he  got  it.  It's  a  little  crame 
pitcher.  Oi'll  have  the  gairl  clane  up  his  room 
fer  'im  tomorry.  Go  to  bed  now,  sure  Oi'm 
dead  to  the  wurld  and  ye  have  to  git  up  early 
in  the  mornin'  and  help  the  gairl  clane  up  the 
house — it's  a  soight,  it  looks  as  if  it  was  hit  wid 
a  cyclone." 

Wartle  started  to  remove  his  coat,  but  was 
instructed  to  keep  it  on  until  he  reached  his 
own  room. 

"Ye're  to  shlape  in  the  back  room,  upstairs. 
Oi'll  take  this  room.  Tell  the  gairl  not  to 
wake  me  up  'till  nine  o'clock  in  the  mornin'.  Oi 
want  ter  git  a  good  rist.  Good  noight  and 
plisant  drames." 

She  closed  the  door  on  the  little  fat  figure 
and  examined  the  pitcher  carefully.  "It's  a 
rail  antake,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  noticed 
the  figures  engraved  on  the  bottom,  1863. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THISBY  made  his  usual  four  o'clock  Sun- 
day call  at  the  Kent  mansion  and  when  the 
butler  informed  him  that  Miss  Helen  was  rest- 
ing, he  handed  the  colored  gentleman  his  hat 
and  cane,  lighted  a  cigarette,  presented  the 
burned  end  of  the  match  to  the  bewildered 
servant  and  walked  leisurely  into  the  library. 

It  had  taken  Mrs.  Kent  and  Rosamond  some 
time  to  fully  explain  the  importance  of  the 
present  situation  to  Helen  and  convince  her 
that  it  was  not  only  wise,  but  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  let  Mr.  Kent  and  Jack  have  the  entire 
house  to  themselves.  It  was  not  quite  clear  to 
her  why  they  should  occupy  the  entire  estab- 
lishment, but  she  was  pleased  to  grant  their 
request,  so  buried  her  undisturbed  mind  be- 
tween the  pages  of  an  interesting  book  and  re- 
fused to  see  anyone. 

With  the  hat,  cane  and  burned  match  in  his 
hand,  the  butler  stood  in  an  amazed  attitude 
mumbling  over  the  orders  he  had  received 
from  Mrs.  Kent  and  Rosamond. 

293 


294        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"We  can  see  no  one.  No  matter  who  calls 
we  are  not  at  home." 

"Those  am  the  words  an'  they  cer'nly  meant 
'em  fo'  they  said  'em  over  an'  over  free  times. 
I'll  inform  him  jus'  once  mo'  an'  if  he  don'  go 
I'll  repo't  the  case  to  Mrs.  Kent,  and  she'll  sure 
'nough  take  that  young  gen'man  by  the  ear  an' 
make  him  go  home!" 

When  he  reached  the  library  door  and  found 
Thisby  sprawled  out  on  the  divan  reading  a 
magazine  and  puffing  clouds  of  cigarette 
smoke  up  at  the  ceiling,  his  courage  weakened 
and  he  was  unable  to  find  words  to  express  his 
thoughts. 

After  he  had  gazed  at  the  picture  for  some 
few  seconds,  the  magazine  was  lowered  just 
enough  to  permit  Thisby  to  throw  a  bored 
glance  over  the  top  of  its  pages. 

"Do  you  wish  anything,  Joe?"  and  he  ar- 
ranged the  pillows  underneath  his  head  and 
continued  reading. 

"Mis'er  Thisby,  the  ladies  lef  pa'tic'ler 
o'da's  that  they  can  see  no  one  today." 

"Don't  bother  about  me,  dear  old  boy.  I'll 
just  sort  of  kill  time  here  'till  they  come  down 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        295 

to  dinner.  Get  me  a  glass  of  water,  that's  a 
dear  old  chap.  Hurry  now,  I'm  beastly  thirsty. 
Run  along  now  like  a  good  fellow!" 

The  request  was  acknowledged  by  a  polite 
bow,  but  the  queer  old  feet  shuffled  their  way 
to  Mrs.  Kent's  door  and  when  she  saw  the 
black  figure  standing  before  her  with  a  straw 
hat  in  one  hand  and  a  cane  in  the  other,  she 
pronounced  the  guest's  name  before  it  was  an- 
nounced. 

"Mass  Kent,  I  tol'  'em  an'  tol'  'em  that  he 
couldn't  see  anyone,  but  he  jus'  walk  right  in 
an'  lay  Vsef  right  down  on  the  divan  in  the 
library." 

"I'll  see  him,  Joe."  Her  quiet  dignified  tone 
assured  the  servant  that  he  had  nothing  to  do 
but  wait  at  the  door  and  hand  the  gentleman 
his  hat  and  cane. 

Thisby  jumped  to  his  feet  and  extended  his 
hand  when  Mrs.  Kent  entered  the  room  and 
she  received  it  in  both  of  hers  and  patted  it 
gently. 

"Helen  is  resting,  my  dear,  and  she  can't  see 
you  this  afternoon." 

"But,  bless  you,  I  am  going  to  be  a  good 


296        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

sort  and  wait  here  until  she  comes  down  to 
dinner.    I  don't  mind  it  a  bit,  don't  you  know." 

"No,  you  run  home  and  if  Mr.  Kent  goes  to 
his  office  tomorrow,  you  may  come  over  then. 
You  do  this  for  me.  Mr.  Kent  is  entertaining 
a  guest  today  and  we  want  him  to  have  the 
house  to  himself,"  and  he  was  coaxed  to  the 
front  door  with  Mrs.  Kent's  arm  about  his 
shoulders,  assisting  him  each  step  of  the  way. 

"Why  doesn't  the  Governor  take  his  guests 
to  his  club  and  entertain  them?  The  idea  of 
wanting  a  whole  house  to  himself  just  to  chat- 
ter about  a  lot  of  stocks  and  such  truck  and 
having  other  people  get  off  the  earth,  so  to 
speak.  It's  an  awful  bore — really  it  is,  don't 
you  know!  My  dear  Mrs.  Kent,  you  have  my 
hat  on  wrong  end  to.  Please  allow  me  to  put 
on  my  own  hat — and  please,  Joe,  you  silly  ass, 
don't  stick  that  cane  in  my  face.  I've  never 
been  treated  so  rudely  as  this  in  all  my  life- 
it's  anything  but  civil,  and  I  shall  tell  mother 
about  it  at  once!" 

Joe  chuckled  to  himself  as  he  watched  the 
small  figure  hasten  down  the  steps.  "He  am 
cer'nly  the  mos'  nervy  puson  that  ever  called 
at  a  house  wifout  a  gun." 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        297 

Though  Rosamond  spent  most  of  the  after- 
noon gazing  out  through  the  window  of  her 
room,  her  mind  was  far  from  the  moving  pan- 
orama on  the  street  below.  The  hundreds  of 
automobiles  passing  in  either  direction  and  the 
tooting  of  their  horns  claimed  no  part  of  her 
attention.  Her  elbow  rested  on  the  arm  of  the 
chair,  her  flushed  cheek  lay  in  her  hand  and  the 
big,  soft  eyes  stared  at  Weatherbee's  tall 
figure  as  she  left  it  standing  in  the  center  of  the 
little  room  when  she  hurried  down  the  stairs 
with  Jack  in  her  arms. 

She  had  met  him  three  times  and  she  pos- 
sessed a  mental  photograph  of  each  meeting 
and  they  were  before  her  constantly,  they 
stood  directly  in  front  of  anything  she  attempt- 
ed to  look  at.  A  feeble  smile  lingered  about 
her  lips  as  she  closed  her  eyes  and  listened  to 
his  description  of  himself  when  he  posed  as  Mr. 
Weatherbee's  secretary,  but  the  smile  darted 
away  and  left  the  lips  trembling  when  she  saw 
him  in  her  father's  presence  and  heard  him 
measure  each  word  in  a  low  dignified  tone  say, 
"I  am  Mr.  Weatherbee."  She  viewed  each 
photograph  over  and  over  and  unconsciously 


298        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

whispered  through  the  lines  of  his  poem. 
She  formed  an  imaginary  picture  of  his 
life  in  the  little  garret  room  with  Jack.  She 
saw  him  sewing  the  clumsy  patches  on  the 
child's  gingham  dress  while  it  dreamed  its  in- 
fant dreams  on  the  tiny  bed-couch.  She  saw 
him  bend  over  the  rough  wooden  table  by  a 
small  lamp  writing  the  poem  that  she  was 
whispering  to  herself.  She  thought  of  the  to- 
morrow and  of  their  meeting;  she  pictured 
their  visit  to  the  lonely  grave  of  her  sister.  The 
words  of  the  poem  left  her  lips  and  they  trem- 
bled as  her  long,  dark  lashes  were  slowly 
lowered  into  the  tears  that  filled  her  eyes.  Her 
mind  traveled  swiftly  from  one  scene  to  the 
other  and  while  her  heart  was  cheering  the 
noble  character  of  the  man  who  had  cared  for 
the  lost  one  and  her  baby,  he  was  passing  her 
window  on  the  top  of  a  Fifth  Avenue  bus. 

The  noisy  vehicle  hadn't  rattled  its  way  far 
up  the  crowded  street  before  Kent's  big  French 
motor  rolled  up  to  the  door.  She  grew  fright- 
ened when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  father 
gathering  the  little  bundle  in  his  arms  as  if  it 
were  glass,  and  she  rushed  out  of  the  room  and 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        299 

was  at  the  front  door  in  time  to  open  it  and  in- 
quire if  the  child  was  ill. 

"No,  the  little  rascal  is  sleeping,"  Kent 
whispered  and  he  tiptoed  into  the  library  and 
took  particular  pains  to  lay  the  little  figure  in 
a  position  to  prevent  the  light  from  striking 
his  eyes. 

To  hear  her  father  lower  his  heavy  voice  to 
a  whisper  was  such  a  surprise  to  Rosamond 
that  she  stood  at  the  door  somewhat  dazed. 
She  watched  him  touch  the  toes  of  his  shoes  to 
the  floor  and  tried  to  remember  if  she  had  ever 
seen  him  walk  as  gently  before.  She  had  never 
heard  him  whisper  before.  The  heavy  voice 
was  never  pitched  in  a  gentle  key  for  anyone's 
ear,  and  the  thick  soles  of  his  shoes  had  never 
touched  ground  ahead  of  the  heels  before. 

Her  surprise  was  many  times  multiplied 
when  she  peeked  into  the  library  and  saw  him 
unlacing  the  little  worn  shoes  with  the  hope  of 
making  the  child's  dream  more  peaceful. 

Her  attempt  to  enter  the  room  and  become  a 
third  party  was  a  failure,  for  as  soon  as  her 
father  saw  her,  he  ordered  her  away  by  waving 
his  hand  quickly  and  making  a  face  that  no 


300        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

one  would  dare  approach,  so  she  obeyed  the 
signal,  departed  quietly,  hastened  up  the 
stairs  and  gave  her  mother  a  detailed  descrip- 
tion of  what  she  had  seen. 

While  the  child  slumbered,  Kent  moved 
about  the  room  noiselessly.  He  stepped 
into  the  drawing  room  to  light  his  cigar  to 
prevent  the  sound  of  the  exploding  match  from 
waking  the  youngster.  The  scratching  of  a 
match  had  been  carefully  avoided  in  the  child's 
presence,  but  his  constant  association  with 
cigars  made  him  forget  that  the  odor  of  the 
smoke  might  prove  objectionable  to  some 
people.  Jack  had  grown  up  with  a  pipe,  but  he 
was  not  accustomed  to  strong,  expensive 
cigars. 

Kent  closed  the  door  gently,  drew  a  large 
chair  close  to  the  divan,  counted  the  curls, 
studied  the  delicacy  of  the  little  features  and 
hurled  clouds  of  smoke  at  the  ceiling.  After 
he  had  succeeded  in  completely  filling  the 
room,  Jack  acknowledged  the  fact  by  coughing 
boisterously  and  fanning  the  smoke  from  his 
face  with  his  tiny  hands.  After  he  had  sniffed 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        301 

and  fanned  several  seconds,  Kent  realized  that 
the  room  was  a  solid  cloud  of  smoke.  The 
door  and  windows  were  quickly  opened. 

Jack  raised  himself  to  a  sitting"  position, 
sniffed  a  few  times  and  appeared  to  be  greatly 
amused. 

"That  must  be  the  kind  of  vegetable  that 
dad  says  always  smells  while  it  is  being 
cooked." 

"Does  your  dad  smoke  cigars?" 

"No,  he  can't  afford  to  smoke  cigars.  He 
has  to  smoke  a  pipe." 

"Do  you  like  the  odor  of  a  pipe  better  than 
you  do  a  cigar?" 

"Yes,  I  like  the  odor  of  dad's  pipe,  but  I 
don't  like  Mr.  Wartle's  pipe— it  smells  dread- 
fully. It  is  nearly  as  bad  as  your  cigar." 

The  innocent  frankness  pleased  Kent  great- 
ly and  he  smiled  pleasantly  when  he  thought 
of  a  thirty-five  cent  cigar  being  referred  to  as  a 
vegetable. 

"You  think  pretty  well  of  your  dad,  don't 

you?" 

"Yes  sir,"  was  the  prompt  reply.     "T  love 


302        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

dad  better  than  all  of  the  whole  world  put  to- 
gether over  and  over  and  over  and  over." 

"Well,  don't  you  like  me?" 

"Yes,  I  like  you  a  lot." 

"Why  do  you  like  me?  Because  I  gave  you 
an  automobile  ride?" 

"Maybe." 

"Well,  why  do  you  like  your  dad?  He  hasn't 
any  automobile." 

"No,  but  he  rides  me  on  his  back." 

"Yes,  but  that  isn't  as  nice  as  riding  in  an 
automobile,  is  it?" 

"Yes,  it  is.  I  would  rather  ride  on  my  dad's 
back  than  in  your  automobile." 

"Would  you  rather  live  in  the  little  room 
away  upstairs  with  your  dad  than  live  here 
with  me  and  ride  in  my  automobile?" 

"Yes,  I'd  rather  live  any  place  with  dad  than 
live  any  place  without  him." 

'"Wouldn't  you  like  to  live  here  and  have 
Mrs.  Kent  for  your  mamma?" 

"No." 

"I  could  ride  you  on  my  back." 

"Yes,  but  you  wouldn't  be  dad." 

Kent  pushed  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        303 

his  trousers,  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
chewing  the  end  of  his  cigar,  repeating  to  him- 
self the  words  of  the  child's  last  speech:  "Yes, 
but  you  wouldn't  be  dad!"  The  man  with  the 
iron  will,  who  controlled  millions  of  dollars 
and  referred  to  as  the  man  who  held  Wall 
Street  under  his  thumb,  the  man  who  had 
never  known  defeat,  stood  with  an  aching  heart 
begging  for  the  love  of  an  infant  who  sat  be- 
fore him  in  a  little  patched  gingham  dress,  in- 
nocently defying  all  his  wealth  and  power.  He 
stared  through  the  window  and  the  glass 
seemed  to  magnify  the  picture  he  had  dreamed 
of  for  so  many  years — one  that  he  had  ceased 
hoping  for — one  that  his  millions  couldn't  buy 
—a  boy — just  a  baby  boy.  The  sharp,  keen 
eyes  softened  as  they  gazed  blankly  up  at  the 
blue  sky,  and  they  closed  when  imagination 
forced  them  to  believe  they  saw  the  face  of  the 
baby's  mother  passing  before  them  draped  in  a 
pale  blue  cloud.  The  cigar  fell  from  the  heavy 
lips  unnoticed  and  the  broad  shoulders  were 
drawn  nearer  the  ears  than  they  had  ever  been 
before. 

Jack  sat  quietly  through  the  long  silence  un- 


304        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

til  he  saw  the  burning  cigar  fall  to  the  floor. 
"Here  is  your  cigar,"  and  he  held  it  before 
Kent,  but  he  made  no  attempt  to  take  it  and 
Jack  tugged  playfully  at  his  big  hand  until  he 
drew  it  from  the  trouser  pocket  and  he  placed 
it  between  the  first  and  second  finger,  and  Kent 
smiled  faintly  and  watched  him  trying  to 
push  the  heavy  hand  up  to  his  face,  but  the 
cigar  didn't  reach  his  lips;  he  tossed  it  into  the 
ash  receiver  and  took  Jack  on  his  knee  and 
wound  the  curls  about  his  finger. 

"Why  did  you  throw  that  big  cigar  away? 
There  was  a  lot  there  to  smoke  yet." 

"I  don't  want  to  smoke,  I  would  rather  visit 
with  you." 

"Why  did   you   let  your   cigar   fall   on   the 
floor?" 

"I  don't  know — I  guess  I  was  dreaming." 

"People  can't  dream  when  they're  standing 
up  wide  awake." 

"Yes,  they  can,  that  is  what  they  call  'day 
dreaming.' ' 

"What  were  you  dreaming?" 

"I  was  .dreaming  of  something  I  have  never 
had — I  was  dreaming — I  was  dreaming  of  a 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        305 

little  boy  like  you."  He  pressed  the  curly 
head  to  his  breast  and  meant  to  pat  it  gently, 
but  Jack  squinted  each  time  the  large  hand 
touched  him. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  would  do  if  I  had  a 
bright  little  boy  like  you?" 

"No." 

"Well,  I  would  send  him  away  to  school  and 
after  he  graduated  I  would  teach  him  to  run 
my  business  and  I  would  give  him  a  half  inter- 
est in  it,  and  he  and  I  would  be  partners — part- 
ners for  life!  Don't  you  think  that  would  be 
fun?" 

The  reply  was  a  long  silence  and  he  rambled 
on  painting  the  picture  he  was  mapping  out  in 
his'own  mind  for  the  lad  he  was  rocking  to  and 
fro  on  his  knee.  He  had  unconsciously  soft- 
ened his  touch  and  when  he  peeked  under  his 
hand,  the  big  blue  eyes  were  closed  and  he  was 
dreaming  of  another  picture — his — picture— 
the  picture  that  was  painted  on  the  memory  of 
childhood — his  dad — the  little  garret  room — 
the  cat — the  picture  book — and  the  broken 
rocking  horse. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

JACK  was  tucked  away  on  the  divan  and 
slept  quietly,  while  Kent  paced  softly  from  the 
closed  door  to  the  window,  stopping  each  time 
he  passed  the  tiny  figure  to  gaze  down  into  the 
face  that  seemed  to  him  like  a  living  shadow  of 
the  one  he  saw  veiled  in  the  blue  cloud.  He  re- 
peated to  himself  each  word  the  child  had 
uttered  regarding  his  dad.  "Dad  rides  me  on 
his  back,"  he  whispered,  and  he  shook  his  head 
in  admiration  for  the  little  man  who  had  un- 
consciously displayed  the  sincerity  of  his  great 
love  for  the  only  father  he  had  ever  known. 
"Yes,  but  you  wouldn't  be  dad,"  he  thought- 
lessly muttered  aloud  while  he  sauntered  to  the 
window,  but  he  stared  at  the  floor,  he  didn't 
look  up,  he  didn't  look  out  of  the  window. 

He  sank  in  his  office  chair,  leaned  his  elbows 
on  the  desk  and  rested  his  head  on  his  hands, 
"He's  full  of  red  blood — he's  a  soldier — he's 
made  of  steel — he'd  break  before  he'd  bend." 
He  tried  to  banish  the  note  of  jealousy  he  felt 
tingling  through  his  mind,  when  he  saw  the 

306 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        307 

one  thing  he  wanted  to  possess  clinging  to  an- 
other. He  sketched  his  home  in  the  garret,  but 
it  was  a  palace  in  comparison  to  the  little  room 
in  which  the  child  had  spent  its  life. 

He  thought  of  the  opportunities  he  could 
place  before  the  child,  of  the  opportunities  he 
would  place  before  him  if  he  could  persuade 
him  to  accept  them.  Jack's  politeness,  his  per- 
fect manners,  his  humor  and  wonderful  wis- 
dom told  of  his  careful  training  and  had  forced 
Kent  to  respect  Weatherbee,  though  in  his 
heart  he  envied  him.  He  begrudged  him  the 
love  that  was  buried  in  the  baby  dozing  on  the 
divan.  He  wondered  why  that  love  hadn't 
been  given  to  him,  and  after  he  had  studied 
over  the  situation  a  short  time  he  realized  that 
he  had  cruelly  pushed  and  kicked  it  away. 
"But  I'll  get  it — I'll  earn  it,"  he  growled  and 
he  swung  the  big  chair  around  quickly  and 
stared  at  the  little  figure  and  sighed — "You  are 
my  boy — my  blood  flows  in  your  veins.  You 
are  my  boy — my  boy.  Your  father  is  dead— 
your  mother  is  dead.  I'll  make  you  love  me. 
I'll  make  you  rich — I'll  make  you  my  son." 

Richard  Kent  never  started  on  a  journey 


308        THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR 

until  he  had  carefully  laid  out  his  route, 
and  when  he  started  he  had  never  been 
known  to  turn  back  until  the  end  was 
reached.  His  keen  eye  saw  at  once  that 
he  was  not  facing  a  business  proposition 
— it  was  different  from  anything  he  had 
ever  come  in  contact  with  and  it  would  have  to 
be  treated  differently.  The  possession  of  the 
child  would  have  to  be  gained  with  affection. 
He  knew  from  his  short  acquaintance  with 
Weatherbee  that  money  would  be  of  no  use. 
"It's  a  problem,"  he  whispered,  "but  I'll  work 
it  out!" 

Jack's  nap  was  interrupted  by  Rosamond, 
who  took  possession  of  him  long  enough  to 
sponge  the  little  face  and  hands,  arrange  the 
curls  and  prepare  him  for  dinner,  during  which 
few  words  were  spoken.  Rosamond  broke  the 
monotonous  silence  on  two  occasions  by  ask- 
ing Jack  if  he  had  a  nice  nap,  but  he  always 
answered  the  time-worn  question  with  the 
same  words. 

"I  don't  know,  I  can  never  tell  how  I  sleep 
after  I  go  to  sleep  because  I  don't  know  any- 
thing until  I  wake  up." 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        309 

The  reply  brought  a  smile  to  Kent's  face 
each  time,  though  he  didn't  enter  into  the  con- 
versation. He  excused  himself  long  before  the 
others  had  finished  and  paused  at  the  door  just 
long  enough  to  request  Rosamond  to  step  into 
the  library  before  she  retired. 

She  found  it  quite  necessary  to  do  consider- 
able coaxing  before  she  succeeded  to  get  Jack 
to  don  Helen's  night  dress. 

"I  know  it's  a  girl's  night-gown.  I  can  tell 
by  the  ribbons  and  all  this  knitting  around  the 
neck." 

She  assured  him  the  knitting  was  lace,  but 
he  informed  her  that  knitting  and  lace  were 
just  the  same,  only  lace  was  made  of  thread 
instead  of  yarn. 

"They  never  put  knitting  or  lace  on  a  man's 
night-gown.  This  is  just  like  the  ones  they 
have  on  the  girl  dolls  in  the  store  windows!" 

"Well,  you  wear  this  tonight  and  I'll  get  you 
some  nice  pajamas  tomorrow." 

"With  pockets  in  them?" 

"Yes,  with  great  large  pockets  in  them." 

The  promise  sent  him  to  bed  cheerfully,  and 


310        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

while  he  was  repeating  the  Lord's  prayer,  he 
stopped  to  decide  on  the  color. 

"May  I  have  blue  ones?" 

"You  may  have  any  color  you  want." 

"I  like  blue  best — where  did  I  leave  off?" 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  start  from  the  be- 
ginning." 

"No,  it  takes  too  long.  I  know  where  it 
was." 

He  omitted  a  few  sentences,  but  the  mistake 
was  an  unconscious  one  and  was  excused  by 
Rosamond,  who  was  quite  busy  concealing  her 
laughter.  The  long  ride  in  the  auto  had  made 
him  unusually  sleepy  and  the  "Amen"  was 
spoken  with  a  yawn  and  the  curly  head  had 
scarcely  struck  the  pillow  before  he  was  fast 
asleep.  Rosamond,  who  was  always  eager  to 
obey  her  father's  request,  went  to  the  library 
at  once. 

He  explained  the  object  of  the  meeting  im- 
mediately. He  sat  at  his  desk  fumbling  with  a 
few  pieces  of  paper  and  without  facing  her  or 
raising  his  head,  asked  her  how  she  happened 
to  meet  Weatherbee.  The  question  proved  an 
embarrassing  one,  but  she  had  always  an- 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        311 

swered  any  question  he  had  ever  asked  her  and 
she  had  never  told  him  a  falsehood,  so,  in  as 
few  words  as  possible,  she  related  the  entire 
story  including  her  engagement  with  him  on 
the  following  day. 

He  listened  silently  with  his  head  bent  over 
the  desk  clinching  one  hand  in  the  other  when 
he  heard  of  Marguerite's  death  and  how  she 
had  been  buried  by  the  man  he  had  ordered 
from  his  house.  The  tears  fell  from  his  eyes 
onto  his  clinched  hands  and  he  made  no  at- 
tempt to  stop  them,  for  each  tear  that  fell 
seemed  to  relieve  the  swelling  in  his  breast. 
With  his  unsteady  hand  he  wrote  Weather- 
bee's  address  on  the  paper  wet  with  his  own 
tears.  "That  is  all,  my  dear.  Leave  me  now, 
I  want  to  think.  Good-night."  She  bade  him 
good  night  and  left  the  heavy  figure  crouched 
over  the  desk  sobbing  like  a  child. 

She  left  the  room  bewildered.  Her  mind 
seemed  to  swim.  She  was  unable  to  under- 
stand her  father's  attitude.  She  had  seen  him 
cry  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  Her  sister's 
name  had  not  been  mentioned  in  his  presence 
for  years.  He  had  ordered  her  photograph  to 


312        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

be  destroyed  or  taken  away.  The  one  which 
held  a  place  on  his  desk  he  had  torn  to  pieces 
and  thrown  into  the  waste  basket  and  now  the 
sound  of  her  name  brought  the  heavy  bellow- 
ing voice  to  a  sympathetic  whisper  and  the 
strong,  rigid  figure  withered  and  shrunk  before 
the  story  of  her  death  as  a  pansy  shrinks  and 
withers  in  a  hail  storm. 

She  sat  on  the  arm  of  a  large  chair  in  the 
drawing  room  and  tried  to  form  some  idea  of 
his  intentions,  but  she  was  unable  to  fathom 
the  depths  of  his  silence.  She  went  to  the 
library  expecting  a  prolonged  conversation 
about  Jack,  but  his  name  had  not  been  men- 
tioned. She  reviewed  his  questions  and  found 
he  had  talked  of  no  one  but  Weatherbee.  She 
hadn't  noticed  him  make  a  written  memoran- 
dum of  his  address  and  she  found  it  impossible 
to  foresee  even  a  faint  shadow  of  his  plan. 

Kent  glanced  at  the  slip  of  paper  containing 
the  Twenty-ninth  Street  number,  pushed  it  in- 
to the  upper  pocket  of  his  waistcoat,  filled  his 
cigar  case  with  fresh  cigars  and  ordered  the 
servant  to  bring  him  his  hat. 

"Shall  I  o'da  de  mota,  sah?" 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        313 

"No,  Joe.  I  am  not  going  far  and  I  want  to 
walk."  ' 

"Yas'ah." 

The  black  derby  hat  was  pulled  down  over 
the  left  eye,  the  long  cigar  squeezed  tightly 
between  the  heavy  lips,  the  large  head  hung  as 
if  the  eyes  were  studying  something  on  the 
floor  and  the  hands  were  crowded  far  down 
into  the  pockets  of  his  trousers.  He  did  not 
see  Rosamond  seated  in  the  large  chair  and  her 
soft  voice  startled  him  when  she  asked  where 
he  was  going. 

"Just  for  a  little  walk,"  he  replied  with  a 
heavy  sigh.  "Just  for  a  little  walk." 

He  stood  on  the  steps  wondering  if  the  man 
whom  he  had  ordered  from  his  house  would 
allow  him  to  enter  his  small  room  in  the  garret. 
"I'll  give  him  the  opportunity,  anyway,"  he 
muttered  to  himself.  "It's  a  funny  world,"  he 
thought  while  he  hastened  along  Fifth  Avenue. 

He  stopped  at  the  salutation  of  the  first  beg- 
gar and  gave  him  the  first  coin  his  fingers 
touched  and  he  held  another  in  his  hand  ready 
to  grant  the  next  request.  He  had  been  a  resi- 
dent of  Fifth  Avenue  for  many  years,  though 


314        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

the  sidewalk  and  his  feet  were  strangers. 
Memory  couldn't  recall  the  time  when  he  had 
sauntered  along-  the  street  before. 

There  were  few  people  in  sight  and  only  now 
and  then  a  poor  devil  appeared  in  a  dark 
shadow  between  the  lights  to  ask  for  the  price 
of  a  night's  lodging  and  none  were  refused. 
The  importance  of  Wall  Street  and  all  of  its 
associates  were  forgotten.  "Dick"  Kent  was 
as_near  nature  as  the  thick  stone  walks  would 
permit  anyone  to  get,  but  the  large  slabs 
seemed  friendly,  the  night  air  seemed  soft  and 
soothing  and  the  stars  twinkled  as  if  they  were 
trying  to  outshine  the  artificial  lights  that  were 
buzzing  and  struggling  beneath  them. 

The  night  acted  strangely  to  him,  but  it  was 
in  its  usual  mind  and  behaving  perfectly,  but 
his  eyes  had  never  viewed  it  from  a  quiet  street 
at  that  hour  before.  He  was  the  stranger,  but 
he  was  not  aware  of  the  fact.  Something  had 
broken  through  the  callous  which  business  had 
wrapped  around  his  heart — something  had 
touched  it.  The  patched  gingham  dress,  the 
curls  and  the  big,  blue  eyes  had  brought  him 
down  from  the  high  wind  where  he  had  been 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        315 

soaring  above  humanity.  They  sent  tears 
through  the  cold,  keen  eyes,  they  had  swept 
the  thought  of  money  out  of  a  mind  that  was 
so  relieved  by  its  absence  that  it  couldn't  ac- 
count for  his  feeling.  He  had  touched  earth 
and  the  sensation  puzzled  him.  He  was  ready 
to  shake  hands  with  the  world,  yet  he  was  un- 
able to  understand  why  he  was  happy. 

When  he  reached  the  steps  of  Wartle's 
house,  the  Sweeney  boys  were  removing  the 
dishes  and  informed  him  that  he  was  too  late. 
"The  at'n's  over,  but  Oi'll  stake  ye  to  a 
cigar,"  and  he  offered  him  one  of  the  "Sweeney 
Perfectos,"  which  he  accepted  with  a  gracious 
smile. 

"Does  Mr.  Weatherbee  live  here?" 
"Oi  dunno,  they'll  tell  ye  insoid." 
None  of  the  guests  were  acquainted  with 
Weatherbee,  so  Mrs.  Wartle  was  called  and 
directed  him  to  "kape  goin'  up  'til  his  head  hit 
the  roof." 

He  thanked  her  for  her  kind  information, 
searched  his  way  to  the  top  step  of  the  squeak- 
ing stairs,  removed  his  hat  and  in  a  low,  firm 
tone  announced  himself  to  John  Weatherbee, 


316        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

who  was  seated  at  the  rough  wooden  table 
pondering  over  one  of  his  manuscripts  by  the 
light  of  a  small  lamp. 

When  he  saw  Kent  standing  with  his  hat  in 
one  hand,  clinging  to  the  rickety  banister  with 
the  other  and  gasping  for  breath,  he  was  not 
only  surprised,  but  greatly  amused.  His 
humorous  chord  was  immediately  touched  by 
the  situation.  There  was  no  desire  on  his  part 
to  be  discourteous,  but  Kent  was  allowed  to 
stand  at  the  banister  while  he  unconsciously 
pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table  and  won- 
dered to  himself  if  the  gruff,  surly  gentleman 
had  come  to  take  his  life  for  entering  his  pal- 
ace, or  to  report  his  actions  to  the  real  Mr. 
Weatherbee. 

When  he  became  conscious  that  he  had  not 
asked  the  visitor  to  be  seated,  he  apologized 
and  begged  him  to  accept  the  broken  rocker, 
which  was  the  best  he  had  to  offer.  After 
climbing  four  flights  of  stairs,  the  offer  was 
accepted  with  thanks,  the  heavy  figure  was 
squeezed  between  the  arms  and  it  squeaked 
tunefully. 

Kent's  attitude  had  changed  so  completely 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        317 

that  Weatherbee  could  scarcely  believe  he  was 
in  the  presence  of  the  man  who  appeared  so 
arrogant  a  few  days  ago.  The  harsh  voice  that 
had  growled  and  snapped  at  him  was  soft, 
sincere  and  friendly.  He  moved  gently  and 
quietly;  there  was  an  atmosphere  of  friendli- 
ness which  surrounded  his  character  that  as- 
tonished Weatherbee,  though  he  remained 
cool  and  humorously  calculating.  He  resumed 
his  seat  behind  the  table  and  pushed  the  manu- 
script aside,  turned  the  wick  in  the  sputtering 
lamp  a  trifle  higher,  looked  Kent  straight  in 
the  eye  and  waited  for  him  to  explain  his  unex- 
pected visit.  A  short  silence  followed,  and 
each  man  riveted  a  friendly  glance  on  the  other 
as  if  it  were  a  game  of  checkers,  but  it  was 
Kent's  move  and  Weatherbee  sat  calmly  and 
held  his  eye  until  he  spoke. 

"No  doubt  you  are  wondering  why  I  am 
here." 

'"Well,   to  be  truthful,   I   wasn't  expecting 
you." 

"Well,  I  thought  I  wouldn't  inform  you  that 
I  was  coming  for  fear  I  might  not  catch  you 
in." 


318        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

"That  precaution  wasn't  necessary,  Mr. 
Kent.  I  am  always  in  to  anyone  who  calls  on 
me  and  I  am  not  kept  very  busy  receiving." 

"You're  lucky." 

"That  greatly  depends  upon  the  person  who 
calls." 

"There  aren't  many  people  who  will  climb  to 
the  garret  to  shake  an  empty  hand,  are  there?" 

The  question  was  asked  in  a  tone  that  was 
friendly  and  it  drove  the  shadow  of  a  faint 
smile  to  one  corner  of  Weatherbee's  mouth. 

"Well,  we  haven't  room  for  very  many  up 
here,  and  the  few  chairs  you  see  seat  all  who 
call." 

"Mr.  Weatherbee,  my  daughter  has  told  me 
of  her  acquaintance  with  you —  how  she  met 
you — of  Jack — the  death  of  his  mother — the 
way  you  cared  for  her  during  her  illness  and 
after  her  death.  That  is  why  I  am  here.  I  am 
not  capable  of  expressing  my  gratitude  and  I 
know  there  is  nothing  I  have  or  can  do  that 
would  even  begin  to  repay  y oil  for  what  you 
have  done.  But  you  are  repaid — there  are  no 
numbers  that  can  tell  you  how  many  times  you 
are  repaid,  there  is  no  form  or  quantity  of 


wealth  that  can  buy  what  you  possess,  or  take 
it  away  from  you.  You  can  buy  bodies  and 
promises  and  lock  them  up  and  watch  them, 
but  you  can't  buy  a  child's  first  love — you  have 
got  to  earn  it.  You  have  earned  it  and  I  can't 
buy  it.  If  I  could,  I'd  give  you  all  I  have  for  it. 
I  can't  steal  it — if  I  could,  I'd  steal  it,  but  I 
can't.  I  can't  even  lay  my  finger  on  it — I  can't 
even  touch  it.  What  is  your  reward  is  a  living, 
breathing  monument  that  circumstances  have 
put  in  my  lap  to  remind  me  of  my  cruel,  stub- 
born mistake,  and  while  I  rocked  it  on  my  knee 
and  tried  to  steal  its  little  mind  away  from  you 
with  automobiles  and  horses  and  promises,  he 
told  me  that  he  would  rather  ride  on  your  back 
than  in  my  automobiles.  I  told  him  that  I 
would  ride  him  on  my  back  and  he  said,  'Yes, 
but  you  wouldn't  be  dad,'  and  for  the  first  time 
during  the  fifty-five  years  of  my  life  I  realized 
that  there  was  something  that  couldn't  be 
bought  with  money.  It's  a  great  pleasure  to 
me  to  have  an  opportunity  to  tell  you  what  you 
possess.  It's  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I 
have  ever  lost  control  of  my  tongue,  but  you 
have  let  me  in,  my  mouth  is  open  and  I've  got 


320        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

to  talk.  Every  man  who  goes  through  life 
must  stumble  and  fall  before  he  learns  to  walk 
carefully.  I  stumbled,  fell  and  got  hurt.  I 
yelled  when  I  should  have  whispered.  I 
punched  with  my  fist  when  I  should  have  pet- 
ted with  my  fingers.  I  used  my  foot  when  I 
should  have  used  my  heart.  You  have  brought 
me  face  to  face  with  my  mistake  and  I  want  to 
do  something  to  pay  for  my  error — I  want  that 
boy!" 

Weatherbee  was  quite  prepared  for  the  de- 
mand. A  lonesome  night  and  a  more  lone- 
some Sunday  had  given  him  sufficient  time  to 
study  the  situation  over  and  over.  He  had 
done  so  and  fully  realized  that  nature  would 
have  its  way;  that  blood  would  claim  its  own. 
He  had  become  reconciled  to  the  fact  that  the 
little  arms  had  been  unwound  from  about  his 
neck  forever  and  would  soon  learn  to  twine 
themselves  about  another  and  he  wondered  if 
the  busy  little  mind  would  forget  him,  or  if  it 
would  ever  think  of  the  lessons  taught  it  at  the 
tiny  window  in  the  garret  while  it  was  playing 
on  the  costly  rugs  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  man- 
sion. His  generous  heart  made  him  deeply 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        321 

grateful  for  the  future  he  saw  before  Jack,  and 
he  despised  himself  each  time  he  wished  him 
back. 

The  four  words  that  Kent  used  to  make  his 
request  were  uttered  in  a  low,  firm,  pleading 
tone.  He  was  positive  in  his  own  mind  that 
Weatherbee  would  refuse  to  grant  his  request 
and  was  prepared  for  a  friendly  argument  and, 
if  necessary,  a  legal  fight.  He  studied  his  face 
during  the  short  silence;  he  watched  the  blood 
leave  his  cheeks,  the  color  return,  the  sad  eye 
melt  into  a  soft  sympathetic  twinkle,  and  his 
own  cheeks  became  swollen  with  astonishment 
when  Weatherbee  replied  quietly:  "You  have 
him,  haven't  you?" 

"Perhaps  you  don't  understand  me.  I  wish 
to  adopt  him." 

"I  understand  you  perfectly.  You  are  only 
asking  for  what  I  would  ask  were  I  in  your 
place." 

He  uttered  each  word  distinctly,  but  he  was 
unable  to  control  his  voice.  It  trembled  in 
spite  of  the  effort  he  was  making  to  smile  as  he 
said  good-bye  to  the  one  link  in  life  that  made 
it  worth  living. 


322        THE   GUEST   OF.  HONOR 

The  sympathetic  tones  of  his  voice  melted 
their  way  through  Kent's  ears  and  landed  on 
his  heart  like  lumps  of  lead.  He  watched  the 
lips  quiver  and  try  to  smile  as  they  were  fram- 
ing their  words.  He  saw  the  muscles  of  the 
face  twitch  and  jerk  and  the  trembling  fingers 
wander  to  the  lamp  and  turn  its  small  blaze 
higher.  He  jumped  to  his  feet,  reached  across 

the  rough  wooden  table  and  yelled,  "By 

Weatherbee,  I'd  consider  it  an  honor  to 

shake  your  hand !" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

KENT'S  enthusiasm  over  what  he  consid- 
ered a  victory  was  for  a  time  suppressed  by 
Astonishment  at  the  quiet  friendly  way  Weath- 
erbee  had  surrendered  to  his  wish.  He  entered 
the  room  expecting  to  be  received  as  he  had 
received  the  man  whom  he  was  calling  on,  but 
Weatherbee's  politeness  staggered  him,  his 
broad-minded  views  puzzled  him — he  had 
jumped  from  the  curbstone  to  a  pedestal.  Kent 
grunted,  stuttered  and  struggled  for  words 
that  might  express  his  gratitude,  but  he  found 
it  impossible,  so  he  clung  to  Weatherbee's 
hand  and  shook  it  until  his  arm  was  tired,  then 
hurried  away  leaving  him  seated  at  the  table, 
by  the  flickering  lamp  staring  blankly  at  the 
rough  wooden  table. 

Weatherbee's  broad  mind  soon  made  the  sad 
eyes  twinkle  and  the  quivering  lips  smile.  He 
glanced  at  Jack's  future  and  saw  his  walk 
through  life  paved  with  comfort  and  happi- 
ness instead  of  the  worries  and  struggles  that 
lay  along  the  narrow  path  where  his  hand 

323 


324        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

would  have  led  him.  His  sad  thoughts  changed 
to  happy  ones,  his  loneliness  was  surrounded 
by  mental  drawings  of  Jack,  he  watched  each 
year  enlarge  the  imaginary  sketch  until  the 
tiny  tot  stood  before  him  as  a  man.  He  stuffed 
his  pipe,  lighted  it  and  blew  a  peaceful  ring  of 
smoke  at  the  painting. 

The  drawing  room  was  lighted  by  one  bulb 
that  threw  a  soft  glow  over  the  room 
that  resembled  the  last  shadow  of  a  fading  sun- 
set. Rosamond  sat  in  the  large  chair  during 
her  father's  absence  and  thought  of  his  strange 
attitude  until  she  worried  herself  into  a 
troubled  doze.  The  slamming  of  the  door 
frightened  her  and  she  rose  to  her  feet  in  utter 
astonishment  as  she  listened  to  him  humming 
a  tuneless  air  to  himself  as  he  sauntered 
through  the  room  into  the  library.  His  eyes 
were  dancing  when  they  saw  her  appear  at  the 
door.  To  her  great  surprise  she  was  invited 
to  enter,  urged  to  accept  a  seat  and  informed 
of  his  visit  to  Weatherbee. 

"That  man  is  all  white,  with  a  mind  as  broad 
as  the  ocean  and  as  clear  as  crystal — he's  a 
mountain  of  honor — a  gentleman — I  wish  I 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR        325 

could  do  something  for  that  fellow,  but  there 
is  nothing  you  can  do  for  a  man  of  his  type  but 
tip  your  hat  to  him." 

She  sat  spellbound  while  she  listened  to  him 
roar  in  admiration  for  the  man  whom  she  had 
spent  the  day  dreaming  of,  wondering  if  she 
was  over-estimating  the  character  that  stood 
before  her  as  a  living  statue  of  nobleness,  the 
smile  that  seemed  like  no  other  smile  she  had 
ever  seen,  the  low  gentle  voice  that  sounded 
like  a  human  note  she  had  never  heard. 

Kent  only  paused  long  enough  to  get  his 
breath  and  announced  his  plans  regarding 
Jack.  "The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  him  some 
clothes.  You  don't  know  anything  about 
what  a  boy  should  wear,  though,  so  I'll  attend 
to  that  myself.  I'll  take  him  after  breakfast 
and  get  the  clothes,  and  he's  got  to  have  some 
things  to  play  with — there's  nothing  up  in  that 
nursery  but  girl's  toys.  He  won't  play  with 
those  foolish  things,  but  I'll  get  those  myself, 
you  don't  know  anything  about  those.  You 
just  have  everything  taken  right  out  of  that 
nursery  and  I'll  fit  it  up  for  him.  I'll  attend  to 
that  myself.  I'll  have  a  trapeze  put  up  there 


326        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

and  one  of  those  electric  saddle  horses  and 
soldiers,  fire-wagons  and  a  menagerie — big  toy 
animals  and  things  of  that  sort.  I'll  have  a 
man  come  and  fit  it  up.  You  can't  expect  a  boy 
that  is  a  boy  to  sit  around  and  play  with  his 
thumbs.  Why,  it's  foolish  to  think  of  such  a 
thing.  Boys  who  are  educated  to  do  those 
things  grow  up  and  develop  into  lace  handker- 
chiefs like  Thisby." 

Rosamond  made  no  attempt  to  offer  any 
suggestions,  for  she  fully  realized  how  useless 
it  would  be,  so  she  listened  with  a  great  deal  of 
amusement  to  his  excited  conversation  that 
was  developing  into  a  heated  argument  with 
himself. 

"We've  got  to  get  a  governess  at  once,  but  it 
is  too  late  to  see  about  that  tonight.  I'll  attend 
to  that  myself  tomorrow.  I  want  an  American 
governess  with  an  American  head  on  her,  who 
knows  something  about  America  and  can  talk 
about  it  and  teach  a  child  something  about  it. 
This  idea  of  putting  an  American  child  in  the 
hands  of  a  French  governess  and  teaching  it  a 
foreign  language  before  it  can  say  'thank  you' 
in  its  own  tongue  is  an  insult  to  our  country. 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR        327 

Thisby  is  a  specimen  for  you.  He  broke  in 
here  one  day  and  wanted  me  to  decide  a  bet  for 
him.  He  was  betting  with  Helen  that  Abe 
Lincoln  was  a  Russian.  I  guess  I'll  have  some 
men  come  up  here  and  take  Jack's  measure- 
ment and  have  a  lot  of  clothes,  hats  and  shoes 
and  things  sent  here.  It  will  be  much  easier  to 
try  them  on  that  way — but  I'll  attend  to  that. 
Don't  you  bother  about  anything.  I  won't  go 
to  the  office  tomorrow.  I'll  stay  right  here  and 
arrange  everything.  You  see,  my  dear,  you  or 
your  mother  have  never  been  associated  with 
boys,  and  it  is  only  natural  that  you  don't  un- 
derstand them.  Boys  are  much  different  from 
girls  and  must  be  cared  for  differently.  I'll 
teach  you  just  what  to  do  and  make  it  very 
easy  for  you  when  I  am  at  .the  office." 

She  was  taken  by  the  hand,  led  to  the  door, 
patted  gently  on  the  shoulder  and  ordered  to 
bed  as  if  she  were  four  years  of  age.  She  an- 
swered the  order  with  a  smile  and  went  to  her 
room  dreaming  of  the  tomorrow. 

Monday  proved  an  unusually  busy  day  for 
everyone.  Weatherbee  was  at  the  bank  before 
its  doors  were  opened  and  was  compelled  to 


get  one  of  the  publishers  to  identify  him  before 
he  succeeded  in  getting  his  check  cashed. 
After  each  creditor  was  paid  in  full,  the  pawn- 
broker was  greeted  with  a  broad  smile  and  a 
cordial  shake  of  the  hand.  "I  have  come  to 
rent  my  clothes  of  you  for  awhile,"  he  said 
casually. 

Both  arms  were  rilled  with  as  many  clothes 
as  he  could  carry  and  after  several  trips  were 
made  his  belongings  were  scattered  about  the 
garret  room.  A  bluish-gray  summer  suit, 
hosiery  of  the  same  color,  low  tan  shoes,  a 
dark  blue  tie  and  a  white  straw  hat  were 
chosen.  The  barber  was  visited  for  the  first 
time  in  many  weeks,  the  manicure  was  request- 
ed to  hurry,  his  watch  was  put  to  work  and 
when  he  was  dismissed  from  the  chair  he  had 
forty  minutes  before  his  appointment  with 
Rosamond  Kent.  A  slight  gnawing  of  his 
stomach  reminded  him  that  he  had  not  break- 
fasted, but  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  slice  of  toast 
made  peace  with  the  inner  man  and  he 
sauntered  leisurely  toward  the  Kent  mansion. 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        329 

"Who's  there?"  Mrs.  Wartle  yelled  after  the 
French  maid  had  pounded  at  her  door  for  sev- 
eral minutes. 

"  'Tees  I." 

"Well,  who  are  ye?" 

"  'E  mait." 

"Pfhat?" 

"  'E  mait — mait — mait." 

"Well,  kirn  in." 

She  raised  herself  to  a  sitting  position  and 
stared  at  the  frightened  maid  when  she  entered. 

"Fer  Hivin's  sake,  was  that  you  bangin'  at 
the  dure?  I  thought  it  was  Hannigan's  horse. 
Pfhat  toime  is  it?" 

After  numerous  attempts  to  inform  her  that 
it  was  nearly  nine  o'clock,  she  held  up  as  many 
fingers  for  Mrs.  Wartle  to  count. 

"Pfhat's  the  matter  wid  yer  tongue,  it 
sounds  as  if  it  had  feathers  on  it?  I  say  pf hat's 
the  matter  wid  yer  tongue — tongue — tongue?" 
she  yelled,  and  the  maid  immediately  showed 
as  much  of  her  tongue  as  nature  would  permit. 
Mrs.  Wartle  shrieked  as  she  fell  back  on  the 
pillow  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Wartle,  who  had  been  paroling  up  and  down 


330        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

the  hall  for  some  time,  rushed  into  the  room. 
"His  hanything  the  matter?"  he  exclaimed  in 
a  frightened  voice. 

"Is  annything  the  matter?  Where  did  ye 
pull  her  out  of?  Shure  \she's  worse  than  a 
Chinaman.  Ye  can't  understand  a  word  she 
siz.  Make  her  git  me  a  cup  of  coffee,  some 
bread  and  butter  and  some  ham  and  eggs  and 
tell  her  to  flop  the  eggs.  Oi  want  thim  froid 
on  both  soids." 

Wartle  saw  that  her  instructions  were  car- 
ried out.  The  bride's  first  breakfast  was 
served  in  bed,  and  the  maid  was  pronounced 
"a  foin  cook."  Wartle  kept  her  company  by 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  when  he  in- 
formed her  that  Weatherbee  had  left  the 
money  he  owed  her  with  him,  she  thanked  him 
by  saying,  "Well,  where  is  it?" 

"Hi  put  hit  hin  with  mine." 

"Did  he  pay  you?'"' 

"Yes,  'e  paid  heverything." 

"Well,  put  it  all  on  the  wash-stand  there  an' 
Oi'll  take  care  of  it  whin  Oi  aroise!" 

His  hesitation  brought  forth  the  second  re- 
quest in  a  firmer  voice,  and  the  money  was 
placed  on  the  stand. 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR        331 

"Take  these  dishes  now  an'  git  out  of  here. 
Oi  must  git  up.  Oi'll  have  a  hidache  if  Oi  lay 
here  anny  longer.  It  must  be  tin  o'clock." 

The  dishes  were  carried  away  and  she  arose 
humming  "Kathleen  Mavourneen"  while 
Wartle  pressed  his  ear  to  the  door  and  smiled 
with  pride,  whispering,  "She  his  ha  queen,  han 
Hirish  queen." 


While  Mrs.  Wartle  sat  in  her  bed  propped  up 
by  pillows  enjoying  her  first  breakfast  in  her 
new  home,  Weatherbee  was  hurrying  from  one 
creditor  to  the  other  paying  his  debts,  and 
"Dick"  Kent  was  busy  at  the  telephone  en- 
gaging representatives  from  the  best  clothing 
houses  of  New  York  City  to  come  and  take 
Tack's  measurement  and  by  ten  o'clock  the 
large  drawing-room  was  completely  littered 
with  suits,  hats,  shoes,  stockings,  shirtwaists, 
automobile  coats  and  gloves,  sent  on  approval. 

The  library  was  used  as  a  dressing-room. 
Kent  requested  the  ladies  to  keep  out.  "It's 
my  duty  to  attend  to  this,  my  dears,  because 
you  don't  understand  what  a  boy  needs  to 


332        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

wear,"  and  the  fussy,  growling  tone  of  his 
voice  resembled  that  of  a  spoiled  child.  An 
amused  glance  was  passed  from  one  lady  to 
the  other  as  they  filed  out  of  the  library  and 
left  what  they  considered  the  big  baby  and  the 
little  man  to  play  with  the  new  toys. 

Rosamond  was  extremely  anxious  to  select 
Jack's  first  suit  and  present  him  to  Weatherbee 
as  she  wished  to  see  him  dressed,  but  her  plans 
were  shattered,  though  she  was  intensely 
amused  with  her  father,  who  had  assumed  the 
attitude  of  a  proud  boy  with  a  new  red  wagon. 
She  had  planned  many  pretty  little  suits  for 
Jack  and  had  unconsciously  asked  herself  if 
they  would  please  Mr.  Weatherbee.  She  was 
not  aware  of  the  fact,  but  his  taste  was  being 
carefully  considered,  and  his  judgment  some- 
what feared.  She  stood  before  the  long  mirror 
in  her  tailor-made  suit  of  white  serge  and  won- 
dered if  he  liked  white.  She  found  a  tiny 
soiled  spot  on  the  rim  of  her  white  sailor  hat 
and  ordered  the  maid  to  bring  another  at  once. 
The  white  gloves  were  thoroughly  examined 
and  Weatherbee  was  only  forgotten  for  a 
second,  now  and  then,  when  the  sad  object  of 
their  meeting  robbed  him  of  her  thoughts. 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR        333 

If  the  maid  had  dared  to  ask  her  why  she 
stood  at  the  window  staring  down  the  walk 
toward  Twenty-ninth  Street  as  if  she  expected 
the  earth  to  open  its  jaws  and  deliver  some  un- 
heard-of-curiosity, she  might  have  realized 
that  she  was  waiting,  but  the  well-trained 
maid  controlled  her  curiosity  and  remained 
silent,  but  watched  her  with  as  much  anxiety 
while  she  watched  for  the  first  man  who  had 
ever  kept  her  waiting  and  for  the  first  time  she 
was  dressed  and  waiting  many  minutes  before 
the  appointed  time. 

Weatherbee's  tall  figure  was  not  recognized 
in  his  new  attire  until  he  was  seen  mounting 
the  steps,  and  much  to  his  surprise  Rosamond 
was  in  the  reception  hall  to  greet  him  when  he 
entered.  Without  thought  or  hesitation,  she 
reached  for  his  hand,  clasped  it  firmly  and  gave 
it  a  cordial  shake  and  the  greeting  was  deeply 
appreciated,  though  he  had  entirely  forgotten 
his  first  reception.  He  had  trained  his  mind  to 
dwell  on  pleasant  thoughts  and  he  seldom 
broke  the  rule,  but  when  Rosamond  placed 
her  finger  to  her  lips  and  whispered  a  long 
drawn  out  "hush"  an  unpleasant  thought  shot 


334        THE   GUEvST    OF   HONOR 

through  his  mind;  he  wondered  if  Kent  had 
turned  tiger  and  was  going  to  slay  him  on 
sight,  but  the  idea  was  quickly  dismissed  when 
she  made  a  peek-hole  by  separating  a  small  por- 
tion of  the  portieres  and  showed  him  the  draw- 
ing-room that  resembled  a  child's  clothing 
store. 

"It's  too  funny  for  anything,"  she  continued 
softly,  "he  has  three  men  in  the  library  trying 
on  clothes  for  Jack,  and  he  won't  allow  mother 
or  anyone  to  even  go  into  the  room — he's  like 
a  child." 

"It  looks  like  a  sample  room,"  Weatherbee 
replied  after  he  surveyed  the  room  and  saw 
each  piece  of  furniture  decorated  with  several 
suits  of  clothes. 

Though  the  scene  amused  him  greatly,  his 
line  of  thought  was  quickly  broken.  The  cost- 
ly garments  announced  the  exit  of  the  ging- 
ham dress  and  there  was  a  swelling  in  his 
throat  when  he  saw  it  thrown  with  the  rags. 
"I  would  like  to  keep  it,"  he  thought  to  him- 
self, "and  in  years  to  come  show  it  to  the  man 
who  may  forget  me,"  and  he  stood  peeking 
through  the  tiny  hole  until  Rosamond  asked, 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        335 

"Shall  we  start?"  He  apologized  for  what  he 
referred  to  as  stupidity; — they  entered  the 
large  automobile  and  Rosamond  instructed  the 
chauffeur  to  follow  Mr.  Weatherbee's  direc- 
tions. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

WEATHERBEE'S  limited  association  with 
automobiles  had  not  enabled  him  to  become 
familiar  with  their  fixtures  and  he  was  not 
aware  that  hanging  at  his  side  was  a  speak- 
ing tube  for  the  sole  purpose  of  conversing 
with  the  chauffeur,  so  he  leaned  forward  and 
gave  him  the  address  of  a  small  flower  shop  on 
Twenty-ninth  Street  and  requested  him  to 
stop  there  first.  The  big  car  dodged  its  way 
along  between  the  numerous  vehicles  on  the 
crowded  avenue  and  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
little  store. 

Weatherbee  begged  to  be  excused,  promis- 
ing to  be  gone  but  a  moment,  and  kept  his 
promise,  for  the  small  bunch  of  sweet  peas 
which  he  had  ordered  and  paid  for  early  that 
morning  was  ready  and  presented  to  him  when 
he  reached  the  door  by  the  clerk  who  saw  him 
alight  from  the  automobile. 

The  sight  of  the  simple  flowers  brought  a 
sudden  blush  to  Rosamond's  cheeks,  for  in  her 
excitement  the  thought  of  flowers  had  slipped 

336 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR        337 

her  mind,  but  her  embarrassment  was  not 
noticed,  for  she  leaned  forward  as  she  had  seen 
Weatherbee  do  and  ordered  the  chauffeur  to 
stop  at  her  florist's,  and  the  next  stop  was 
made  in  front  of  one  of  the  largest  and  most 
expensive  flower  stores  on  Fifth  Avenue.  At 
this  store  her  appearance  always  meant  the 
sale  of  the  most  costly  flowers,  which  she  pre- 
ferred to  purchase  rather  than  cut  the  ones 
growing  in  the  conservatory  at  her  own  home. 

The  clerk's  surprise  was  quite  noticeable 
when  she  informed  him  that  she  wanted  a 
small  bunch  of  lily-of-the-valley.  He  leaned 
heavily  on  his  persuasive  powers  and  tried 
hard  to  influence  her  to  look  at  the  American 
Beauties,  repeating  that  they  were  exquisitely 
beautiful  that  morning,  but  she  refused  to  even 
see  them. 

"I  just  want  a  small  bunch  of  lily-of-the-val- 
ley." She  was  deeply  impressed  .by  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  sweet  peas  which  Weatherbee 
held  in  his  hand  when  he  came  from  the  tiny 
store  and  stepped  into  the  automobile.  In  her 
eyes  the  small  bunch  made  their  little  leaves 
look  so  big,  and  their  simplicity  augmented 


338        THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR 

Weatherbee's  dignity  and  there  was  still  a 
much  deeper  thought  in  her  mind,  a 
thought  that  displayed  the  consideration 
and  sweetness  of  her  character.  She  was 
eager  to  secure  something  as  inexpensive 
as  the  sweet  peas,  not  only  to  show  her  appre- 
ciation of  his  delicate  selection,  but  prevent 
showing  any  sign  of  financial  display  in  fear  of 
hurting  his  feelings,  or  making  him  conscious 
of  his  limited  means,  which  she  was  fully 
aware  of.  Her  success  was  complete,  her 
choice  not  only  delighted  him,  but  greatly  sur- 
prised him,  for  a  glance  at  the  store  suggested 
most  anything  but  a  small  bunch  of  lily-of-the- 
valley.  He  expected  to  see  the  large  car  load- 
ed with  magnificent  flowers  of  all  descriptions 
that  would  make  his  humble  little  cluster  of 
peas  fade  into  the  background,  but  he  was 
pleasantly  disappointed,  and  the  broad  smile 
which  crept  over  his  face  was  quickly  noticed 
by  Rosamond  when  she  stepped  into  the  car. 

"Are  you  fond  of  lilies-of-the-valley?"  she 
asked  eagerly. 

"Very,"  he  answered  softly,  and  continued 
in  a  still  softer  tone  after  a  short  silence.  "I 


THE   GUEST    OF   HONOR        339 

am  fond  of  all  flowers,  but  I  dare  say  that  lily- 
of-the-valley  is  my  favorite  one." 

His  short  acquaintance  with  the  rules  of 
motoring  were  again  noticeable,  for  they  sat 
some  time  before  he  came  to,  and  realized  the 
driver  was  waiting  for  his  instructions.  He 
was  not  familiar  with  any  of  the  automobile 
routes  in  and  about  New  York,  but  he  bent  for- 
ward and  told  the  driver  where  they  wished  to 
go,  but  instructions  regarding  the  way  to  get 
there  were  not  necessary.  The  boy  touched 
his  hat  with  a  jerk — he  knew  the  way  too  well 
—he  could  have  gone  there  with  his  eyes 
closed,  for  his  mother  lay  but  a  few  yards  from 
his  employer's  daughter. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  New  York  motor 
laws,  the  trip  would  have  been  made  in  silence, 
but  the  laws  brought  a  mechanical  grunt  from 
the  horn  at  each  crossing,  but  no  words  were 
exchanged.  Each  understood  and  seemed 
grateful  for  the  other's  silence,  though  each 
was  trying  to  guess  the  other's  thoughts,  but 
the  mind  in  the  front  seat  was  the  most 
puzzled  of  all. 

"Doubtless   one  of  the   charity  babies   has 


340        THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR 

been  buried  there  and  she  is  going  to  visit  its 
grave.  What  other  reason  could  she  have  for 
going  to  such  a  humble  graveyard?" 

The  large  car  quietly  hummed  its  way  along 
until  it  rolled  up  before  the  entrance  and  faced 
the  huge  sign  "No  Automobiles  Allowed." 
Weatherbee  stepped  from  the  car  and  grace- 
fully assisted  Miss  Rosamond  to  the  ground. 

A  small  bird  perched  on  the  point  of  one  of 
the  black  iron  pickets  of  the  large  open  gates 
twittered  a  friendly  welcome  and  broke  the 
silence  as  they  sauntered  through  the  marble 
archway. 

Weatherbee  was  familiar  with  every  nook 
and  corner  and  chose  the  path  which  took 
them  between  the  massive  trees  with  their 
long  drooping  branches  swaying  the  green 
leaves  to  and  fro  over  the  lonely  white  head- 
stones beneath  them.  Each  tree  seemed  to 
possess  an  army  of  birds — some  chirruped 
softly  as  if  to  themselves — some  singing  as  if 
they  were  testing  their  little  lungs,  while 
others  sputtered  and  squabbled  and  jawed  as 
if  they  were  battling  with  the  world  at  large. 

The  path,  the  trees,  the  birds,  everything 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        341 

was  new  to  Rosamond.  It  was  a  world  she 
had  never  visited — a  world  she  had  never 
seen — perhaps  one  she  had  never  even 
thought  of,  but  a  world  that  Weatherbee  was 
fond  of.  He  often  went  there  and  sat  be- 
neath the  trees  and  studied  the  characteristics 
of  the  different  people  who  came  with  their 
humble  flowery  offerings  and  wept  over  the 
graves  of  their  loved  ones.  He  considered  it 
one  of  nature's  greatest  books  to  study  human- 
ity from,  and  while  they  were  drifting  along 
the  narrowing  path  leading  to  the  topmost  hill 
of  the  grounds,  he  was  making  a  careful  study 
of  his  companion,  though  she  was  not  aware  of 
the  fact.  Her  silence  was  marked  and  appre- 
ciated— her  unconscious  sighs  were  counted 
and  the  expression  of  her  soft  brown  eyes  was 
carefully  watched  as  they  wandered  from  one 
lonely  plot  to  another. 

When  they  reached  the  hilltop,  the  cinder 
path  narrowed  into  one  where  few  feet  had 
traveled  and  was  marked  by  bent  grass  and 
weeds  leading  to  a  new  portion  of  the  cemetery 
on  the  side  of  the  hill  which  was  treeless  and 
barren.  There  were  no  marble  slabs  to  mark 


342        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

the  lonely  graves,  only  an  earthen  pot  or  a 
broken  glass  appeared  here  and  there  with  a 
few  withered  flowers  hanging  over  their  edges. 

When  Rosamond's  eye  fell  on  the  scene,  she 
unconsciously  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  second, 
just  long  enough  to  close  her  eyes,  press  her 
lower  lip  between  her  teeth  and  restore  her 
courage. 

Weatherbee  led  the  way  down  the  dry 
grassy  path  and  stopped  just  before  he  reached 
the  foot  of  the  hill  and  stood  before  a  mound 
that  was  some  distance  from  the  others.  A 
small  earthen  pot  lay  on  its  side  at  the  head  of 
the  grave.  At  the  foot  of  the  grave  there  was 
a  root  of  green  ivy  with  two  tiny  vines  which 
were  smuggling  their  way  along  through  the 
grass  as  if  to  greet  the  empty  pot  lying  at  the 
other  end.  The  grass  was  short  and  green  and 
showed  signs  of  care  and  cultivation  and  in 
appearance  was  quite  different  from  the  other 
graves  in  that  part  of  the  cemetery.  The  birds 
were  still  busy  in  the  trees  at  the  top  of  the 
long  hill,  but  the  distance  was  too  great  for 
their  little  voices  to  carry  to  the  bottom.  The 
lonely  silence  was  not  interrupted  by  any 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        343 

sound,  save  for  a  wandering  bee  buzzing  its 
way  about  in  search  of  a  clover  blossom  or  a 
wild  flower. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Weatherbee  to  in- 
form Rosamond  that  they  were  standing  be- 
fore her  sister's  grave,  but  he  drew  his  head  up 
slowly,  looked  into  her  eyes  and  whispered 
softly,  "Your  sister  is  buried  here." 

Rosamond  replied  by  a  single  nod  of  her 
head.  She  could  find  no  words  to  express  her 
thoughts  and  the  two  characters  stood  side  by 
side  staring  down  at  the  green,  grassy  mound. 

Rosamond's  mind  darted  back  to  the  doll 
days,  and  memory  seemed  to  gather  all  the 
childhood  games  she  and  her  sister  had  ever 
played  together  and  pile  them  in  one  heap  at 
the  foot  of  the  grave;  it  gathered  up  the  sad 
hours  and  scenes  of  her  life  and  shuffled  the 
sorrow  with  the  happiness  and  spread  it  out 
before  her,  but  the  sorrow  was  so  great  that  it 
covered  and  smothered  the  happiness.  The 
childhood  games,  the  simple  dolls  and  their 
many  little  dresses  only  multiplied  the  agony 
and  brought  her  to  her  knees  sobbing  like  a 
child. 


344        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Memory  had  been  hurrying  Weatherbee's 
mind  back  and  forth,  and  it  bobbed  from  the 
little  room  where  he  first  saw  Jack  and  his 
mother  up  to  the  garret,  and  from  the  garret 
to  the  Kent  mansion,  and  from  the  mansion  to 
the  grave  where  he  stood  trembling  with  sym- 
pathy and  love  for  the  girl  who  was  weeping  at 
his  feet.  His  nervous  fingers  clenched  the  tiny 
bunch  of  sweet  peas  until  they  crushed  the 
stems — his  heart  thumped  and  pounded 
against  his  breast  and  his  tongue  seemed  para- 
lyzed as  he  glared  down  and  listened  to  the 
sobs  of  the  girl  he  loved — each  sob  seemed  to 
cut  deep  into  his  heart  and  leave  a  gash  that 
would  never  heal.  He  begged  his  tongue  to 
utter  one  word  of  sympathy,  but  it  refused  to 
obey.  He  drew  his  head  high  into  the  air — the 
peas  fell  from  his  hand — he  crouched  down  at 
her  side,  seized  her  hand  in  both  of  his — "God, 
girl,  don't  cry — I  can't  stand  it — I — I — can't 
stand  it !"  he  moaned  in  a  soft  pleading  tone. 

His  sympathy  only  augmented  her  sorrow 
and  the  tears  rolled  from  her  cheeks  and  fell 
onto  the  small  bunch  of  lilies-of-the-valley  that 
lay  in  her  lap. 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR        345 

He  watched  each  tear  as  it  found  its  way 
from  the  soft  brown  eyes  and  anchored  on  the 
petal  of  the  innocent  flowers.  Each  tear 
seemed  to  trickle  and  burn  its  way  through  his 
heart  before  it  reached  the  flowers'  tiny  leaves 
and  the  intense  pain  frightened  him.  He 
called  on  his  better  judgment  to  explain  his 
agony  and  when  it  did,  he  realized  for  the  first 
time  how  deeply  he  loved  the  girl  whose  hand 
he  held  clenched  in  his.  He  released  his  grip, 
unwound  his  fingers  gently,  placed  her  hand 
on  the  flowers  in  her  lap  and  sat  silently,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  chin  resting  in 
both  hands. 

Nothing  heals  the  wound  of  a  woman's  heart 
as  quickly  as  her  own  tears,  and  Rosamond 
wept  and  sobbed  until  the  tears  ceased  and  the 
sobs  reduced  themselves  to  a  quick  double 
breath  that  jerked  and  twitched  as  if  her  heart 
were  fluttering  with  relief. 

They  sat  silently  at  the  foot  of  the  grave- 
each  one  thinking  of  the  other — each  wonder- 
ing what  the  other  was   thinking,  and  both 
forming    the    wrong    opinion    of    the    other's 
thoughts. 


346        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

Rosamond  raked  her  mind  over  and  over  in 
search  of  words  that  would  plainly  express  her 
respect,  gratitude  and  love.  From  the  first 
time  she  had  learned  of  Weatherbee's  kindness 
to  her  sister,  she  had  studied  the  situation  care- 
fully— and  her  respect  was  based  on  nobility — 
her  gratitude  on  charity — and  her  love  on  both 
and  a  something  else  which  no  one  living  can 
describe.  She  found  many  words  and  weighed 
them  carefully — she  formed  them  into  sen- 
tences and  whispered  them  over  and  over  to 
herself  and  studied  their  meaning,  then  select- 
ed the  only  one  that  she  knew  would  truth- 
fully and  plainly  explain  her  feeling.  She  drew 
her  head  up  slowly,  gazed  at  Weatherbee  for 
several  seconds  and  spoke  in  a  firm  voice: 
"John  Weatherbee — I — love — you !"  Each 
word  was  uttered  slowly  and  distinctly. 

Weatherbee  jerked  his  chin  from  his  hands 

—his    eyes    met    hers    and    stared    into    them 

blankly,  his  elbows  remained  on  his  knees,  his 

fingers  straightened,  the  blood  raced  through 

his  veins  and  he  sat  as  if  paralyzed. 

"I  know,"  she  continued  in  the  same  tone 
when  she  saw  the  wild  expression  of  surprise 


THE    GUEST   OF   HONOR        347 

creep  into  his  face,  "that  it  sounds — rude — or 
perhaps  silly — or  sentimental — but  I  do — I 
love  you.  I  don't  care  what  you  think  of  me 
for  telling  you — but  I  can't  help  it — I  do — and 
I  am  proud  of  it." 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  steadily  until  his 
lids  slowly  covered  them.  She  watched  him 
remove  his  hat  and  place  it  on  the  ground  at 
his  side  and  run  his  trembling  ringers  through 
his  hair.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  struggled  to 
keep  from  staggering,  for  his  mind  was  spin- 
ning like  a  top.  He  pushed  his  shaking  hands 
into  his  pockets  and  glanced  about  as  if  in 
search  of  his  bearings — his  heart  pounded 
away  as  if  it  were  hammering  at  his  tongue 
trying  to  force  it  to  tell  of  its  happiness,  but  he 
clinched  his  teeth,  sealed  his  lips  that  were 
smiling  feebly,  and  dreamed  silently.  Dreamed 
of  himself,  of  the  tiny  thing — the  helpless  thing 
he  considered  himself,  of  his  lonely  home  in  the 
attic,  of  his  future  prospects — he  dreamed 
through  the  dream  again  and  again,  shook  his 
head  and  whispered  to  himself,  "She  doesn't 
realize  what  she  has  said."  He  reached  for  the 
bunch  of  sweet  peas  lying  at  his  feet,  took  the 


348        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

lilies-of-the-valley  from  Rosamond's  lap, 
stretched  his  hand  forward  to  assist  her  from 
her  sitting  position  and  whispered  with  a 
smile,  "Let's  arrange  these  now — shall  we? 
You  hold  the  flowers  and  I'll  get  some  water." 

Rosamond  made  no  reply,  but  accepted  the 
flowers  and  her  eyes  followed  the  tall  figure  as 
it  strolled  away  through  the  dry  grass  with  the 
small  earthen  jar  hanging  from  its  fingers.  His 
silence  baffled  her  and  the  faint  smile  that  she 
discovered  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth  when  he 
helped  her  to  her  feet  puzzled  her  and  she  re- 
peated to  herself  again  the  words  she  had  said 
to  him.  "I  am  proud  of  it,"  she  whispered  and 
her  eyes  wandered  from  Weatherbee  to  the 
lonely  grave.  "Where  would  she  be  were  it 
not  for  him?  I  wonder  if  she  knows  we  are 
here — I  wonder  if  she  heard  me  tell  him." 

Weatherbee  hurried  his  feet  through  the 
grass,  though  his  mind  was  working  slowly 
and  her  words  were  ringing  in  his  ears  like 
Christmas  bells.  They  were  not  words  uttered 
by  a  silly  child  or  a  foolish  girl  yet  in  her  teens, 
they  were  words  from  a  woman's  heart,  a  heart 
he  considered  more  courageous  than  his  own, 


"So  he  placed  the  jar  of  cool  water  at  the  head  of  the  grace.      They  both 

knelt  on  either  side  and  she  mingled  the  sweet  peas  urith  the  lilies 

of  the  valley" 


THE    GUEST    OF   HONOR        349 

though  it  was  sympathy  and  respect  that 
forced  his  silence  on  the  subject  of  love;  his 
love  was  too  sacred  and  his  position  in  life  too 
humble  to  allow  him  to  mention  it — it  would 
mean  nothing  to  her,  he  thought,  so  he  placed 
the  jar  of  cool  water  at  the  head  of  the  grave, 
they  both  knelt  on  either  side  and  she  mingled 
the  sweet  peas  with  the  lilies-of-the-valley.  He 
sunk  the  jar  into  the  earth  to  prevent  it  from 
falling.  Their  eyes  met  again — each  eye 
seemed  to  search  the  other  for  a  word — each 
face  held  a  different  expression,  but  both 
hearts  were  beating  out  the  same  message  of 
love  to  the  other. 

"Do  you  think  me  rude?"  Rosamond  asked 
in  a  soft  but  firm  voice. 

"No,"  Weatherbee  answered  in  the  same 
key  as  he  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Do  you  think  me  foolish,  then?" 

The  shaking  of  his  head  continued  and  the 
same  reply  was  made,  but  in  a  more  sympa- 
thetic key,  a  tone  that  might  be  described  as  a 
heart-tone.  It  was  heavier  and  firmer  than  a 
whisper,  though  softer  and  sweeter  than  his 
natural  voice. 


"Then  what  do  you  think — won't  you  tell 
me?" 

"Do  you  realize  what  you  said  to  me?" 

"Every  word !" 

"Do  you  realize  the  meaning  of  those 
words?" 

"I  realize  what  they  mean  to  me." 

"Do  you  think  they  could  mean  any  more 
to  me  than  they  do  to  you?" 

"No." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"I  am  positive." 

"And  you  would  really  like  to  know  what  I 
think?" 

"Yes." 

He  peeked  between  the  swollen  lids  and 
studied  the  tender  expression  of  seriousness  in 
her  eyes.  The  sun  hurried  its  way  along-  from 
beneath  a  blue  cloud  as  if  it  were  anxious  to 
brighten  those  eyes,  and  a  friendly  bee  buzzed 
itself  down  among  the  leaves  of  the  sweet  peas 
and  hummed  as  if  it  were  lending  its  music  to 
the  words  that  Rosamond's  anxious  ears  were 
waiting  for. 

"Then  I  shall  tell  you  what  I  think,  for  I  feel 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR        351 

sure  you  do  realize  what  you  have  said,  and  I 
am  positive  that  I  realize  what  I  am  going  to 
say.  As  much  as  you  love  me — I  love  you  that 
much — and  that  much  more.  Do  you  believe 
me?" 

"I  do." 

He  reached  across  the  flowers  and  took  her 
hand  in  his  and  held  it  tightly. 

"But  there  it  must  end." 

"No,"  she  whispered,  "there  it  must  begin, 
for  when  two  people  really  love,  there  is  no 
ending — it  is  always  beginning.  Each  day 
ends  and  is  bound  with  a  binding  of  sweet 
memories,  and  each  day  begins  anew  and  noth- 
ing else  matters." 

"But  ours  would  be  bound  with  a  binding  of 
poverty  and  struggles." 

"Love  knows  no  poverty,  it  knows  no 
struggles.  There  is  no  poverty  nor  struggle 
for  love  that  has  love  for  a  companion." 

The  sun  backed  its  way  down  behind  the 
tree-tops  on  a  western  hill  and  the  bee  circled 
above  their  heads  and  sung  itself  away  in  the 
distance.  Weatherbee  clung  to  her  hand; 
they  rose,  and  sauntered  up  the  steep  hill  hand 


352        THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

in   hand;  no   words   were   spoken   until   they 
reached    its    top,    then    Weatherbee    paused, 
looked    down    into    her   eyes    and    whispered, 
"Nothing  else  matters?" 
"Nothing!" 


gfct 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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